And the Rest is Ancient History
by Grace Harney
Summary: hello, boys and girls, I've, uh, officially hijacked this story. chapter 92 penthouse suite number 2, and chapter 93 the last guy. the story's over...now go watch the dark knight if you want more
1. Family Dinner

_A/N: I don't own any of the characters, not even the events, because some of them did happen in the original Batman comics. _

_**Chapter 1 - Family Dinner**_

On a muggy Friday evening, at the end of the work-week, the Napiers sat at the tiny round oak table for dinner. Food was already on the table, peas and carrots, mashed potatoes, and some meat Jack would have rather not known of what pathetic animal it had once been a part. Probably some cow moaning sadly from mad-cow disease, stumbing crazily around it's filthy pen on it's last dying days. Or maybe it was one of those cows that had been abducted by aliens. If it was not Grade A meat, then it was Radiation-Symbol-Toxic-Waste meat. It was all they could afford.

His father seemed calm enough for the time-being. He had only chugged down a few beers as soon as returning from the assembly-line factory in which he worked, twelve hours a day so he could get over-time and rare breaks. There was a rumor going on that there was an actual slave-driver at the factory. If anyone knew it was Jack's father. He was probably the only white man working there. Everyone else was an illegal immigrant, working for five dollars an hour.

If there was one word Jack could use to describe his life, it was _miserable._ Misery seemed to ooze out of the walls like the blood in that movie, _The Amityville Horror_. There were some horrors now and then in this house too, and Jack wasn't sure which he preferred, the misery or the horror. He guessed probably the misery, it was more quiet. He hated the yelling and screaming. He hated things breaking and most of all, he hated blood. And he'd seen plenty. Probably buckets all put together... Just thinking about buckets of blood made him nauseous. He dropped his fork with a clang on the plate, food still stuck to it. He felt a little weak. There was a glass of water with ice in it. With a shaking hand, he took it and drank some. The water was still warm from the tap. He teased a block of ice into his mouth, feeling chilly drops run down his throat, cooling his esophagus as they flowed. He felt better.

Dinner was half-way over. So far, tonight seemed like one of the nice nights. Sure, there was tension. Jack usually felt like he was sitting inside some viscous substance up to his eyes, which made his movements slower and duller, which made him work harder and therefore, tire quickly. Of course, all this was the result of misery assaulting the mind on a constant basis.

Jack's mind was wandering when his father spoke. He had not heard the first words.

"My friend paid for it," his mother said, nervously pulling her hands off the table and under.

"Your _friend_?"

"Y-Yes. She was getting hers done for her daughter's reception. So... So she treated me."

Jack sat on his mother's right, and he leaned slightly to the left to look what all the fuss was going to be about. Her nails were a bright tropical-bird red with white and yellow nail-art. Of course his father would have noticed something like that. She was looking for trouble. _Not exactly subtle, Mom,_ he thought sarcastically to himself. But he dared not say anything. His eyes went to his father's face, on Jack's right.

His father was a thin man, much like what Jack imagined he would look like if he ever lived to be forty. He might kill himself before then. His father's hair was unhealthy and stringy, strands hanging around his eyes. His bony shoulders were stiff and sharply angled. One hand held a fork, and the other, a steak-knife. Jack knew how deft his father was with a knife. He sliced and diced dead chickens into pieces all day long to be processed and made into ready-made chicken wings and tenders that people picked up in the frozen aisles of the grocery market. Faster than a striking snake he could slash the knife without even a hint at effort.

His father put the fork down. _Only_ the fork. He pointed at his wife's hands. "Put them back on the table," he ordered, chewing some wiry meat.

Striving to appear calm, Jack's mother slowly put her hands back on the table, on either side of her plate. She swallowed apprehensively, watching her husband's movements and eyes.

Jack had noticed over the years that his father stopped blinking if he was going to do something physical. It was almost like he was staring off into space, but Jack thought it was his brain mapping out exactly what he was going to execute at what second.

His father continued to chew the meat, but clearly that meat was determined to stay one huge brown hunk. His father spat it out onto the floor, making both Jack and his mother jump. Jack turned slightly towards his father, just in case he was going to try something. At sixteen, Jack realized he probably couldn't do much against a grown man, but he could slow him down.

His eyes were still blinking. A good sign.

"Why didn't you tell your friend to give you the money instead?"

"That wouldn't have been... nice."

Jack's father lowered his head a little, cocking it to the side. "Nice? Did you say, _nice_?"

Jack's mother gave small nod.

"Why didn't you tell her you didn't want it?"

"Because she was doing something nice for me. I just said okay."

"Are you going to this reception?"

Jack's mother shook her head stiffly.

"Then why didn't you say no?" His eyes were not blinking anymore.

She started to take her hands off the table again and Jack's father slammed the handle of the stake knife down on the table. "Put them back on the table!" He roared.

She had started crying a little, looking like a berated girl after she was caught having sex.

Jack's father looked at his plate and then back at his wife. "You call this food?" He sneered. He slapped the plate off the table, making it shatter. "You've never cooked a decent meal in your life!"

Jack sagged back in his hard chair. He stared mournfully at his own plate. This really shouldn't have been called food. Especially not the meat.

"All you do is waste my hard-earned money," his father accused. He stood up, knife by his side. Jack sat up again.

Staring warily at her husband, Jack's mother started to take her hands away again.

"_Put them back!" _Jack's father shrieked.

She gave a small scream and jumped out of her own seat, backing away. She kept her hands in fists, trying to hide the bright nails.

"You spent the money yourself, didn't you?"

"No!" She denied, mortified.

"All you do is waste money!" They weren't even at the table anymore. Jack was left by himself, unacknowledged and lonely. He looked at his father, who was a looming monster over his wife. She cowered in the corner, and Jack realized how small the kitchen really was.

Jack's father slapped his wife and pulled her hair. "What the hell is this? Your hair isn't this color! More money wasted!" He rubbed her lips roughly, smuding her red lipstick which was still on her face from work. "You don't need this!"

She pointed to the table. She was angry and frustrated now. "And what about that!?" She screeched, her voice shaking from fear.

For a second Jack thought she was pointing at him, but he realized a moment later that she was talking about the beer.

"You drink everyday!" She moaned. "You! _You _waste your money! Not me!"

Jack stood up. He knew his father was going to do something. She had said too much.

Just as he grabbed his father around the waist to tackle him to the floor, Jack's father raised his hand to backhand his wife, but he had forgotten he still held the knife. He accidentally slashed her across the face, slitting her gaunt cheek. She screamed in pain, her hands shooting up to her face. Jack managed to tumble his father, and then looked up at his mother. She screamed again, in agonizing pain. She lowered her hands, tears streaking down her face. She stumbled away, looking like a hideous runaway circus clown, her left cheek red with blood and the other side with lipstick.

Jack felt tears stinging his eyes. He looked at his father's face, which was aghast, for once.

Jumping finally to his feet, Jack's father ran after his wife, letting the bloody steak-knife clatter to the floor.

Jack sat there on the floor for a while, hearing his mother's crying and screaming from deeper inside the house. He saw drops of dark blood on the hard wood floors and several tiny blood spatters on the walls. He saw some on his shoes too, and his jeans. There were more on his shirt and when he touched his face his fingertips came away bloody. He hadn't even felt those drops hitting his face.

Jack felt a powerful wave of nausea hit him just then, in the instant after the second he realized that his mother's blood was on his face. It was probably also in his mouth. As he thought so, he imagined he could taste the salty metallic taste in his mouth. Jack leapt up to his feet and ran outside, dropping to his knees and heaving his undigested dinner onto the patchy, dying lawn.

God, how he hated blood.

--

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_Thanks for reading!_


	2. Aftermath

_**Chapter 2 - Aftermath**_

After spewing his disgusting dinner onto the lawn, Jack spat a couple of times and trudged back into the house. He hoped his mother was alright. She wasn't the toughest person in the world, and because of her constant stress her health was always faltering. And it wasn't just her physical health. It was her mental health that concerned Jack the most. One day he feared that she might go insane. Then where would they all be?

She was basically the glue of the family. Jack and his father rarely talked, and if they happened to say anything to each other it was out of hatred and spite. Sometimes it was even an all out brawl. Once or twice Jack had been knocked out-cold, only to wake up and find no EMS workers. Not even the sound of an approaching ambulance blaring it's sirens. All he saw - both times - was his mother on the floor in a corner, staring off into space and his father thoughtfully nursing a can of beer.

What if he had had a concussion? What if he had incurred brain damage? What if he had died of a broken rib that punctured his lung and drowned agonizingly in his own blood? No one cared. Not even the woman who had gone through hours of torturous labor to bring him into this fucked-up world.

At first, when Jack entered his house, rotten floorboards creaking under his thin frame, there was heavy silence within. The sort of silence that hangs around after a sudden, loud noise. As he stepped deeper in he heard his father's voice calling his mother's name. Over and over again.

Jack quickened his pace and entered their bedroom, finding blood stains on her pillow and some blood trails on the floor. He staggered to a halt and clenched his lips shut, willing his sick feeling to go away. It almost didn't work. He clutched the wall and gagged again, tasting vomit in his mouth. But there was nothing left except saliva. He spat on the floor and coughed, somehow feeling more ill than before, probably because he was so tired from heaving.

Both his parents were in the adjoining bathroom. He could hear his father, his voice quiet and worried.

Jack went to the doorway. He swallowed again as he saw his mother seated on the closed toilet, staring at her face in the dirty mirror with rusted corners. The rust had leaked down from the screws from years of oxygen erosion and now the color was embedded in the off-yellow, dingy tiles.

Her face was no longer bleeding, and all the blood had been wiped off. There was an open slice on her face, like a thick slit in a juicy red plum. Jack started shaking uncontrollably. "Mom?" He whispered.

She made no reaction. She just stared at her face.

Jack's father nudged her arm but she just sat there like a torn rag doll.

Jack went closer, and knelt down next to his father. He couldn't look at him. He was afraid he might throttle him. It didn't matter that he felt weak enough to collapse or helpless enough to cry. He knew he was filled with enough fury to kill his father.

But none of that mattered right now. His mother needed a doctor.

"Mom, come on," he said gently, taking her hand. "We need to go to the emergency room."

His father shoved Jack's hand away. "No!" He snapped.

"What do you mean no?" Jack demanded, deadly quiet, standing to his full height. God help him if he couldn't control himself anymore. His hands were quaking fists, his fingernails digging into his palms, his muscles cramping from the tautness of his fists.

"We can't," his father insisted, and left it at that. "She just needs some sleep."

"Some _sleep_?" Jack's teeth were gritted together so hard his temples were beginning to hurt. "You stay the fuck out of my way," Jack muttered and took his mother's hand again. "Mom, come on," he said firmly.

"No!" Jack's father ordered, and shoved him away. His voice was more panicked now than anything else. He was afraid of getting caught. He was afraid of getting nailed for domestic violence. The fucking coward.

Jack dealt his father a hefty push and found himself punched back. He slammed into the sink and slumped down, reeling from the blow.

His mother started screaming. There were no words. Just scream after scream after scream. Like she had seen something so horrific it had eliminated everything else in her brain and scorched pure terror there instead.

Jack could barely focus his eyes for a few moments. When he was finally able, he saw that his mother was screaming at nothing. Her eyes were wide with horror at nothing. She was focused on nothing. Maybe there was a huge monstrosity in her face that only she could see. Her own demon that wouldn't stop plaguing her no matter now much her husband and son pushed and slapped her to make her come back to reality.

His father looked panicked and cornered at the same time, realizing there was nothing to do _but_ call an ambulance. Jack put his arms around her shoulders and held her, hoping he could calm her. But her screams continued unfalteringly, deafening and chaos-inducing in Jack's head.

Jack's father finally ran from the room after looking like a frightened rabbit for a couple of minutes. He didn't return.

Jack remained with his mother until the ambulance arrived.

The EMS workers tried to calm her themselves, but to no avail. When they pulled her bodily out of the bathroom she made no attempt to resist, but continued to shriek incoherently. Jack could see their faces were red with apprehension and the sort of look a person has on their face when they see another person being tortured. Jack could tell his mother's screams made their hair stand on end and it was all they could do to keep from dropping her on the bloody kitchen floor and running for their lives.

After strapping her tightly into a stretcher they snapped an oxygen mask over her face. This did nothing to calm or elevate her behavior.

Both EMS workers were panting, not from the work of carrying her slender body to the stretcher, but from the stress of the situation and constant shrieking.

One of them spoke shakily into a radio and requested a sedative. Jack and his father watched nervously from two different corners of the room. Jack's father was chewing his nails, his eyes wide open and spaced out. Jack just held his hands over his ears trying to ease the unstoppable panic that boiled inside him.

Within moments a lady arrived and expertly delivered the shot into her veins.

After several minutes her screams finally started to become duller and more labored. She stopped looking to frightened and her eyelids began to droop. Another minute and her screams became hoarse moans.

The EMS workers couldn't have looked more relieved if they had been expecting to get their legs chopped off and were suddenly granted mercy and told they could keep their much-needed limbs.

Jack leaned on the wall and sank to the floor. He licked his cracked lips and felt dried blood.

The EMS workers waited for the sedative to take it's complete course, which meant she had to fall asleep.

As they waited Jack heard sirens again, and this time, they were police sirens. He looked pointedly at his father, daring him to try to run. But Jack's father apparently was not listening to, or looking at, anything.

When they started to wheel her away Jack stood up weakly and began to follow. But two police officers stepped into the house and one of them held up a hand to stop Jack. "I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you a few questions. I hope you don't mind." Which pretty much meant _You ain't goin' nowhere. _

Jack gazed after the stretcher as it disappeared from his line of view. He lowered his eyes and shook his head. He heard the ambulance restart the wailing sirens and drive away.

The officers introduced themselves and herded Jack and his father into the kitchen. Jack's father perched himself on the kitchen counter while Jack leaned at the sink. Just in case his stomach decided on another emergency upchuck.

"Let's start from the top," the first officer said, pulling out a notepad and pen. He flipped some pages and clicked open the pen. He glanced at Jack, then at his father.

After studying each of them for a moment or two, the officer said, "Son, I think you'd better step outside."

Jack twisted his lips in a grim sneer at his father. "Gladly," he muttered, and walked out into the muggy night.

--

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	3. Interrogation

_**Chapter 3 - Interrogation**_

Jack idled outside, wondering whether to start running or just sit on the sidewalk. In the end he didn't have to make that decision because the second cop exited the house and joined him outside.

"Hey there kiddo," he started, a little _too_ cheery. Jack already hated him. _Kiddo_? What was he, a second-grader suffering from a minor bully attack?

"I just want to ask you a few questions like the other guy is asking your dad in there, okay?"

Fucking yuppie. He couldn't have been more than twenty-three. Fresh out of the academy. Probably hadn't seen a difficult day in his perfect life. Maybe Jack could help him catch a glimpse of reality by running his foot over with the Pontiac in the garage and then drag him by his broken foot down the street a few blocks. _Would that be okay with you, kiddo?_

"Yeah, that's fine," Jack replied quietly.

"Why don't you just tell me your side of the story."

Beginning from the quiet dinner, Jack finished up to the point when the two cops walked through the door. He didn't skip anything. In fact, he brought great attention to the fact that his father was abusive.

The young loser cop took his notes and nodded every now and then. "Listen, I think your mother might have to spend the night in the hospital. Do you have any family to go to? In case your father is arrested?"

"No."

"Do you have any friends who would allow you to spend the night with them?"

"I'm not a fucking infant, I'll be fine."

The cop wasn't surprised by the profanity, but he still looked unsure. "All right. I'll send a social worker here in the morning. Nine sharp."

Jack suppressed the nagging need to pull the officer's gun out of his own belt and shoot him in the face. Maybe he should have snatched the Bic pen out of hand and stabbed it into his left eye. Jack glared at the officer with his tormented brown eyes. "I don't, need, _anyone_." Jack turned slowly, giving a warning glance to the cop, and walked back into the house, his heart pounding with pent-up rage.

Retreating to his room, not looking at the first cop or his father, he closed the door as quietly as he could and locked it. The light was already off and he made his way from memory to his sagging twin-sized bed by the window. He often guessed that getting sucked in by a sinkhole felt quite like getting into his bed. It seemed unusually dark in the room, and he realized it was because there was no moon outside to give off the sun's stolen light.

Naturally, Jack couldn't sleep. He kept picturing his mother's slashed face in the darkness, and then her screaming without pausing for anything but a ragged breath. What could have possibly induced such madness? He would have to go to the hospital first thing tomorrow. Screw the social worker.

He thought again about how her face would be destroyed forever, and no amount of stitches could fix what was torn inside. His mother wasn't what he would have called ravishing, but he remembered thinking once that she was beautiful. She had wavy dirty-blond hair and thin, shapely limbs. She had elegance because she was so thin, and not because she was tall.

When she was younger she had lived in Gotham, near New York City, but her family had moved to Florida when she was a teenager. There was no apparent reason for the move, and even though Jack had wondered why, he had never bothered to ask.

There were a few odd things about her. She had hellish nightmares where she would wake up the entire household with her screaming. She refused to take her son to anything even _resembling_ a carnival or circus. So the Annual State Fair was out of the question even though Jack had begged her many times to be taken when he was young. Actually, therein lay her greatest fear. Coulrophobia. Apparently her fear wasn't the sort that made her run, it was the kind that paralyzed. If there was a clown on TV she wouldn't go for the remote and change the channel. She would sit there, eyes wide open and holding her breath, frozen in terror, waiting for it to end. Jack remembered that she once had the misfortune of watching the movie _It_, written originally as a book by Stephen King. Actually she hadn't gotten through the whole movie. Just a few of the scenes with the horrible clown in it, definitely scary enough to induce coulrophobia in anyone. Jack had to pry the remote from her hand, and turn the TV off. She wasn't even looking at the TV. Sure, her eyes were facing that direction, but she wasn't actually focused on it. She was far away, probably imagining some demented clown-faced demon was about to kill her, like in the movie pretty much.

It had taken him several minutes to pull her out of the trance. At the suggestion of the hospital she had quickly insisted she was alright, although she was sweating and trembling. Later, she retreated to the bathroom and he heard her retching.

So maybe, it was no wonder she had lost it when she saw a clown's smile on her face.

There was a knock on Jack's bedroom door. He raised his head off the pillow and looked at the door. There was a knock again, and someone twisting the door handle.

Jack sighed and climbed out of his bed, which was like climbing out of a shallow grave because the spring mattress was so old. When he opened the door he stared up into the first cop's face. At least this guy _looked_ like a cop. He had some experience under his belt and he walked like a cop too, with the arrogance that grows from years of wearing the badge, and flaunting power over mere civilians. "The judge gave consent over the phone for your father's arrest."

"Fine," Jack agreed boredly. "Is there anything else?"

"Are you absolutely sure that you don't have any place to go tonight?"

Jack simply stared at the cop. "I'm not going to kill myself. I'll be fine."

The officer turned his head skeptically and scrutinized Jack's face. Jack didn't break eye contact.

"All right. All right fine. You take care. A social worker will be here in the morning. Around nine. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." Jack thought to himself that he wouldn't be here when he or she arrived.

"Her name is Bernice Wilkins."

_Oh great, it was some old grandma. Bernice?_ "Okay," Jack replied.

"I wasn't going to give this to you, but Ms. Wilkins insisted that I give you her number. In case you want to talk to her. She said you could call any time."

Jack took the small card quickly. Anything to get rid of everyone in the house.

The cop started walking away. Then he stopped and turned, eyeing Jack. "Don't you want to say goodbye to your father?"

Jack shook his head and closed the door.

Returning to his window however, which faced the front of the house, he saw his father being marched out to the black-and-white, hands cuffed behind his back. The younger cop put a hand on top of his head and eased him into the backseat. At last, Jack's lips formed a small smile, filled with spite and vengeance. He climbed back into bed and turned onto his side, waiting to fall asleep.

--

_Okay, please review. Tell me suggestions, mistakes, anything. I would love to hear from you all. Thank you!_


	4. Visiting Hours

_A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews! I am so happy to see everyone enjoying the story. Please keep reading! I will do my best to return the favor and read your stories too._

_**Chapter 4 - Visiting Hours**_

Jack spent most of night writhing from nightmares of gory female clowns in torn bloody clothes chasing him with exploding bouncy balls and juggling pins. He woke up at about six in the morning, while it was still dark. Deciding he couldn't handle anymore nightmares, he dragged his tired body out of bed and glanced out of his window. In the parking spot just next to the driveway was a police car, a figure in the driver's seat.

Jack felt a surge of contempt, wishing he had the ability to will the car to explode, blowing the man inside to bits along with it, burning the bleeding gasoline and melting twisted metal parts. Jack calmly decided he would just use the back door and jump the fence. That had to suffice for now. Maybe one day his wish would come true.

As he got ready to leave, he paused in front of the mirror to check his face. The punch his father had dealt him had left a bulge on his left jaw that ached when he moved his facial muscles. There was a small cut on his lip, clean of blood. He supposed it wasn't too noticeable. His face was a little ruddy from the hot shower he had just stepped out of, but still, he was tired and sleepy. His sunken cheeks gave him the appearance of being malnourished. Jack's medium brown eyes, usually steady and piercing, were ringed with a light gray which bore ghostly resemblance to what it would become one day.

No one stopped him as he vaulted lithely over the four-foot fence. He had always been extremely agile and quick on his feet, marked by a stroke of masculine grace.

Jack never wore a watch. The temptation was to great to count the minutes, regardless of where he was. He guessed it was around seven. The sun was starting to stretch its rays into the deep, navy sky, melting away the darkness and the misery of last night. Bird twittered incessantly. Jack noted to himself that it really was a tranquil morning. Maybe it was a good sign. Maybe his mother would be all right after all.

He guessed visiting hours at the hospital were not until about eight or nine, maybe even ten in the morning. If that was the case, maybe he'd be able to track down one of his mother's doctors and find out if there was anything he could do. Jack grudgingly took a bus to the hospital. He had been expecting to take the Pontiac, but unfortunately the cop had been watching the house like some pathetic, chained dog waiting for a bone with some shred of meat on it.

As he walked from the bus stop to the hospital's Emergency entrance, the sun was already fully risen, drawing beads of sweat on his temples and neck. Drops of sweat trickled from his hair and ran down under his T-shirt, making the cheap material stick to his back. He pulled the front of shirt and flapped it, hoping to chase some air onto his skin to cool himself. He hated the heat. Unless it was from a fire. For some reason, heat from a flame was comforting to him, even if he felt like the tongues of the flame were touching him. Maybe he just enjoyed watching things burn. Change from an object and become nothing but a mess of debris and ashes.

Throwing open the door to the Emergency entrance he felt a burst of cool air on his body. He gave a sigh of relief. He stood there a moment, then noticed a lone receptionist at the desk. She was reading _InStyle_ magazine and nothing about her was stylish or in mod. She was overweight with a gaudy pink sweater. She probably knitted it herself. He cringed to know what sort of hideous pants or skirt she might be wearing. Still, he walked over to her. She glanced up and offered a small smile. "May I help you?" At least she was nice. She had to be, to make up for her looks.

Jack asked for his mother, who had been brought in around nine last night.

She searched the roster and said, "Yes. She was brought in at nine-twenty-seven and they admitted her right away. She should be in ICU. Let me get someone to show to the ICU waiting room, okay?"

Jack nodded and backed away from the desk. He searched for a seat that was in a dark corner but found the room brightly lit as though they were hoping to perform surgery right there in the waiting room. The way he felt was like he was indeed waiting to go under the knife. He found a chair under an overhanging television set that was murmuring endlessly. It sounded like the news. There was another one across the room, on some sort of morning show. He felt detached, like he had never seen a television before. It was suddenly alien to him, and he caught himself wondering how most of what was on, was mere nonsense.

He watched one of the talkshow hosts stand up and gesture gladly to a row of ladies wearing some awful bathing suits. How such beautiful figures could be made to look ugly was beyond him. All of them had smiles plastered to their faces. What the hell was so wonderful that they were smiling so much? One of the ladies in bathing suits flourished, showing of her trim legs and buttocks. The host said something and they all giggled. Jack looked away in disgust, wishing he could just kill all of them. Wipe those sickening fake smiles off their faces just by showing up with a knife in the middle of their waterless pool party. What gave them the right to be so fucking happy, when he was here for his ill, injured mother and his father was in jail for domestic abuse?

"Hon? This guard will take you to ICU."

Jack snapped out of his hate-riddled daydreaming and looked at the short, rotund guard. The guard gestured for Jack to follow and they walked in silence to ICU. The guard pointed to a small intercom with a red light and button. "Just press that and tell them who you're here to see. They'll let you in when they're ready."

Jack nodded and sat down on one of the chairs. There was no TV here. All he had were his thoughts. And a stupid clock on the wall. Great, now he was going to be here for what seemed like much longer than what the clock said. He thought about what he was going to say and stood up, reaching for the intercom.

"Hello?"

A moment later, "Yes?"

"I'm here to see my mother." Jack said her name after a second's pause.

"The doctor is with her right now. Give us a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay."

Jack sat back down. Those few minutes turned out to be about forty-five minutes. The clock made sure he knew how many minutes had gone by. And it made sure he knew each minute intimately. He was alone the whole time. Apparently there was no other patient in ICU, or no one cared about their loved ones.

A nurse _finally _showed up and called Jack, pointing to a sink for him to wash his hands. The smell of disinfectant washed over him the moment he entered ICU. He did so quickly and dried it on some brown, non-absorbent paper-towels. He could see slightly into the room, but a curtain was obstructing most of his view. Tossing the brown paper into the garbage bin, he hurried into the room.

His mother was sitting against some pillows propped behind her back. She was staring downwards, maybe her eyes were even closed. The doctor was still inside. He was looking at her, apparently waiting for some sort of answer. When Jack walked in he looked at him. "You must be Jack," he said, friendly, but serious at the same time. "I'm one of the hospital psychiatrists. Would you like a moment alone with your mother?"

Jack looked at his mother and really felt uneasy. He could see the left side of her face, not the slashed side. Jack really didn't want to be alone with her. He was afraid she would start screaming again.

"Don't worry, she's still sedated. As a matter of fact, I think she's dozing off. I was about to get a nurse to lower her bed so she can get some rest."

"Oh."

"Would you like to have a seat?" The doctor pulled a folded chair from against the wall and set it up on Jack's mother's left side. Jack nodded and sat down next to her. The hospital bed was so bulky that he couldn't really take his mother's hand. Plus it was high - above eye level. "Here, let me," the doctor said politely, and pressed a button that lowered the bed. Now her shoulder was level with Jack's face. She stirred awake and groggily looked at Jack. The scar on her face had some black stitches through out, looking like an evil, spiky caterpillar. She gave a lazy smile. "Hi," she said.

"Hi Mom," Jack muttered.

The doctor excused himself without saying a word, but merely glancing at Jack. His mother didn't even notice.

Jack just sat there, reluctant to bring up last night's events. He just said, "Are you okay?"

"I feel really tired," she admitted after a moment of thought. "They tell me I'm not ready to go home. But I have to work. I can't take time off."

"It's okay. You need to get your health back."

She shook her head. "No. I'll never get it back. I've always been sick." She sighed and reached drunkenly behind her, trying to get the pillows out. She dropped her arm and sighed in exhaustion. Jack stood up and gently took the pillows away so she could lie down.

"You're not sick," Jack replied, wishing he believed his own words, hoping that she would agree to the lie.

"I am. Where's your father?"

Jack clenched his jaw at the mentioning of that despicable man. "He's in jail."

His mother's eyes widened, but the appearance of being half-asleep didn't go away. She almost looked comical. "What?"

"They arrested him. I think he's still there."

"Oh." She didn't seem too concerned. But she didn't seem to be gloating either. "Honey I'm tired."

"Okay Mom."

"Will you stay here with me?" It was more of a general question than a plea.

"Yeah."

"Okay." She turned towards him and tried to put her right hand on the bed next to her chest. But it just hung there in midair. She didn't even notice. It was then that he noticed she had restraints on. She closed her eyes blissfully and sighed again.

Jack sat there for what seemed like a few minutes. "Mom?" He whispered. She didn't even twitch, and continued to breathe deeply and slowly. Jack eased his hand away from hers and left the room.

The doctor was standing outside at the nurses' station looking at a patient's file. When Jack came out looking lost and unsure of what to do, the doctor saw him and came over. "Would you like to ask me any questions?"

"Yes, I would," Jack said quietly, and glanced furtively at his mother's room. He could only see the thin white curtain.

"This way, please."

Jack followed.


	5. Meeting with the Doctor

_A/N: Hi everyone. When I initially wrote this chapter it turned out to be way too long, so I had to split it into two. I'm going to post the next chapter up anyway, just in case you feel like reading the rest. I'm just posting it as Chapter 6. Enjoy!_

_**Chapter 5 - Meeting with the Doctor**_

The doctor led Jack through a series of twists and turns in the maze-like hospital. He didn't think he would be able to find his way back. Turning the second to last corner led them to a reception desk with a few people bustling around. Across from the desk, tucked in a corner near a shelf filled with bleached blankets and sheets, was a photocopy machine. Jack wondered why it was out in front of the desk instead of behind it, where it would obviously be more accessible to the hospital staff. Anyone could have walked up to it and used it. The doctor turned right at the copy machine and the first door to the left was his. This whole hallway was carpeted. It didn't look like a hospital anymore, just some offices. Opening the dark wooden door to his office, the doctor waved Jack towards the doorway with his mother's patient file.

Jack seated himself in a metal chair with navy seat cushions without being asked and hunched forward, feeling a little cold. He probably should have been apprehensive, but he wasn't really. The desk was heavy oak. Behind the doctor was a large window with vertical blinds. The doctor closed them politely so he wouldn't appear as a shadow to Jack, who was opposite the window.

As the doctor sat down, he dropped the file on the desk and started, "First of all, where is your father?"

Jack clenched his jaw and sucked in a breath. He let it out slowly. He flashed a grim, almost cruel smile. "He's in jail." He laughed chillingly.

"Ah." The doctor nodded upwards and looked embarrassed for asking. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

_He's not really sorry,_ Jack thought nastily to himself. _Look at him sitting there with his fresh haircut and crisp white doctor's coat. He thinks he's so fucking perfect, taking care of the 'less fortunate' and 'helpless'. He thinks he's so fucking useful to society. _Then after a split second, Jack thought, _He thinks he's God._

"Your mother explained to me that she had some severe trauma in her life when she was about your age. However, she refused to tell me what it was. I only came in this morning and I just got to speak to her for about an hour. She didn't even hint at what it could be, but I do believe I have an idea of what it is, from what I can gather from her behavior and lifestyle."

"Which is?"

The doctor hesitated, then said, "Well I know you're her son and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. Certain terrible things are part of life and society. They just happen."

Jack rolled his eyes and leaned forward. He looked down and noticed a business card holder sporting several clean, beige cards with embossed letters. _Dr. Michael Anderson, Ph. D. _He picked up one of them and smacked the side of it on the wooden desk with a surprisingly loud clack. He looked piercingly into the Anderson's gray eyes. "Spare me your philosophy doctor. Tell me what happened to my mother."

The doctor looked at the card in Jack's hand, seeming to exude abrupt uneasiness, almost like it was a knife that could be turned on him. He pulled Jack's mother's file closer to him as thought he felt a sense of protection from it, like some sort of amulet to ward of Jack. He took a deep breath and came out with it: "I think she was raped."

Jack leaned back thoughtfully, not as disturbed as he would have expected. He guessed he had known the whole time, on some level. What other tragic trauma could happen to a young attractive woman to destroy her for life?

The doctor waited for a reaction, but got nothing. "Do you have anything to say?"

Jack looked at the business card again and pocketed it. "No."

"I understand this can be shocking. But honestly, it's just my calculated guess. It may not have been rape at all." Maybe there was some humility in the doctor after all. He was open to the idea of him possibly making errors, even though he was probably right most of the time.

"But women who have been raped behave a certain way, right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"What lifestyle traits were you talking about before?"

The doctor seemed more comfortable to be talking than to be silent. "Well, they have low self-esteem. They choose to be around men who are generally destructive towards them. As in your father's case, well, he is abusive. And they're incapable of sensing future danger of similar proportions."

"What does that mean?"

"A woman who has been raped once is more likely to be raped again, since she has been disoriented, and can't pick up warning signs because of the first incident."

"You think she was raped more than once?"

"That I don't know."

Jack considered again. He pulled the card out of his pocket and studied it hard. Something nagged him about the colors. It wasn't really anything significant, it was just annoying. Maybe it was the combination of sky-blue and the lightest beige. It just didn't go together. Who puts blue with beige? That was like putting blue and yellow together, it just didn't work. There was no harmony.

"Did she ever tell you she was raped?" The doctor asked after a long silence.

"No," Jack replied, not looking up. He really was more preoccupied with the card than he should have been. Maybe he was just irritated with the doctor.

"Well you don't seem surprised." Anderson seemed to have a hint of impatience in his voice. Not really an admirable characteristic for a psychiatrist.

"I'm not."

"Why is that?"

Jack realized what the doctor was doing and froze, card in hand. Then he slowly raised his eyes. "I'm not your patient," he said, almost like a warning.

The doctor seemed to bristle, but corrected it quickly in order to appear professionally unruffled. "Yes, that's right. Force of habit," he laughed weakly.

_Yeah. A likely story. _Jack remained silent, causing the doctor to feel awkward enough to start talking again to relieve tension.

"You know I usually don't discuss my personal life with patients or family members."

_I hope he's not going to start now,_ Jack thought.

"But I think I should say something."

_Oh, great._

"My wife was raped when she was a teenager."

_He's lying,_ Jack thought instantly. Then he reconsidered. _It could be true_.

"She didn't tell me even after we were together for years. She didn't even go for counseling. It's very shaming for a person. It takes unimaginable courage to get over the shame and come forward. On the other hand, some people just feel more comfortable burying it. They don't ever confront it and they suffer their whole lives because of it."

"So you're saying my mother is a coward?" Jack suggested, starting to toy with the doctor.

The doctor countered him wisely. He was no fool. "If that's how you want to look at it."

Jack gave one last contemptuous look at the card and put it in his pocket. "How long is she going to be here?"

"We need to evaluate her."

"She's not some lunatic."

"Well, she needs counseling. She needs help, Jack. I want you to realize that."

"Yeah, you're right."

"Currently I'm her psychiatrist. If I find that I can refer her to a specialist, I will do so. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Will you?"

"Yes. You can talk to my secretary at the desk. Her name is Vicki. I'm sure I have some free time tomorrow. People usually don't make appointments on Sunday."

"Okay."

"Your mother will be transferred out of I.C.U. today. She's not in any serious danger." The doctor opened up the file. "Is there anyone other than you or your father that I can contact?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're a minor."

"Oh." Jack tried to think of someone. "Maybe someone at the place where she works. I think she has a friend there."

"Okay. If you can get in touch with her and give me a contact number that would be great. If you want to call today you can, and leave it with my secretary. All right?"

Jack stood up. "Yes, that's fine."

The doctor stood up and picked up the file. Jack glanced at it. It was probably confidential information. Jack didn't bother asking for a look. But still... Maybe he could get a quick look. Not now though. Jack saw the doctor looking at him, knowing he was curious to look inside the file.

"Your mother's things are in her room. You're welcome to take them home now, if you want. Be sure to see Vicki on the way out. You need to fill out some forms."

"Okay." Jack turned and opened the door. He glanced back at the doctor who had already turned away to some other paperwork on his desk.

Jack was about to leave when he decided, on second thought, to be polite and say, "Thanks."

The doctor looked up and smiled. "You're most welcome."

--

_A/N: Please give me your thoughts. I would love to hear what you guys think and where you think it will, or should, go. Thank you for reading!_


	6. Bernice Wilkins

_A/N: Sorry, I forgot to put up this chapter right away. _

_**Chapter 6 - Bernice Wilkins**_

After meeting with Vicki, Jack was given a few forms to fill out for his mother's stay at the hospital, and he offered the house number as a contact number. He told Vicki he would get back to her with another contact number, one that belonged to an _adult_. Vicki nodded sympathetically and agreed that it wasn't fair how sixteen-year-olds were treated like little children. They were practically eighteen!

Jack found his way to ICU after being lost for about twenty minutes because of his own patchy memory and wrong directions from stupid people who should have known the way, since they _worked _there.

He washed his hands again and checked on his mother. She still had her bright nails on. They looked like spots of blood on the starch-white sheets. He looked around the floor, and sure enough, there was a plastic hospital bag sagging against the wall across from the bed. He knew those were her things.

He picked up the bag and walked out, glancing over his shoulder at his slumbering mother.

He felt a sense of insecurity as he went home on the bus ride. The sun was beating down on him waves of humid heat. Jack was soaked with sweat on the walk home. The first thing he wanted to do was shed his clothes down to every last piece of clothing. Unfortunately, this was not to be so. The cop car was not alone anymore, and there were two other buddies parked crookedly in the streets. Jack's front door was wide open and there was a lady in her fifties standing around, talking to one of the three visible cops.

As Jack walked over nonchalantly, the young yuppie cop from the previous night noticed him. He stalked over, looking furious and red in the face. Jack smiled internally, enjoying seeing the young stupid cop looking so humiliated and ruffled. "Where the _fuck_ have you been?" He hissed at Jack as he came closer. He grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt. The other cops were too unattentive to notice. It appeared they didn't really care where Jack was. It was just a domestic abuse case. Who gives a fuck?

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Jack replied, asinine.

"Listen you little cocksucker, I can make your life a living hell. Don't you--"

"Do you really think that's the first time I've heard that?" Jack asked evenly.

There was a cop car a few feet away, somewhat isolated from the other two cars. The young cop spun Jack around violently and shoved him towards the car. Then he grabbed Jack's right arm and twisted it behind him and up, causing Jack to wince in pain and forcing him to bend forward. The cop slammed the right side of Jack's face onto the burning hot hood of the car with a dull _thunk_. At first Jack didn't feel the heat, but then it was all he _could_ feel. Jack struggled to separate himself from the hot metal, but the cop didn't let up. Jack could feel the heat emanating to make his right eye water. Leaning down to talk quietly into his left ear, the cop pulled Jack's left arm behind him and almost fully restrained him. "Are you going to behave?"

Jack sneered even though he felt like his face was getting baked off. Then he started laughing. "Ow, this really hurts."

His words only infuriated him, and he finally pulled out his handcuffs and clipped them onto Jack's wrists.

"Oh my God, what is he doing?!" Jack heard a woman's appalled voice. He could almost hear a fire burning under the hood of the car. Surely his face was completely melted off by now?

"Drake, release that kid! What the hell are you doing?" Jack heard another man yell, probably in his forties.

Sounds of footsteps pounding the pavement grew louder and Jack was finally released from his one-sided torture. His skin felt instantly cool, but it burned with pain.

"This kid's an asshole! Running off on my watch!"

The older cop quickly undid the handcuffs. "If I ever catch you doing that again I'll make sure you get arrested for assault."

The young cop gaped at the older one, who gave him one final look of disapproval and nudged Jack towards the house. "Are you safe and sound now? Go talk to the social worker. Stay out of trouble." He raised his hand as a goodbye to the lady. "Have a good day Bernice. I'll catch up with you later."

She waved distractly and as Jack trudged over, face still searing, she reached a hand out towards him. "Are you okay?" She asked sincerely, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder. "He shouldn't have done that." She was sympathetic.

Jack looked over his other shoulder at the young cop, who was walking after the older one, demanding respect. Fucking loser. He hated when people demanded respect. That meant they didn't deserve it. They thought they deserved it for demanding it. Now thanks to him, the other side of his face was also injured. He'd have to go walking around school looking like someone set him on fire and made a flaming punching bag out of him.

"Maybe you should get some aloe on that?"

"Huh?" Jack looked incredulously at the worried lady. "Aloe? What do you think this is, a day spa? This is my house!"

She grew a little red in the face. "Okay, maybe some moisturizer then."

"Whatever. I don't really have time for this," Jack walked into his house. "They just came in here?" He examined the door. He had forgotten to lock the front door and the cops had just waltzed in. He _hated_ cops. Almost as much as he hated his father. The social worker hesitated to go inside. Jack tossed a look of curiosity over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"

She lurched into motion. "Oh, yes, of course." She closed the door quietly behind herself, looking uneasy. "Listen, I can come back if you want. Or, if you're more comfortable with another person, I can arrange that too."

Jack emitted a hollow laugh. He turned fully and looked at her. She was holding a binder and her purse hung on the crook of her right elbow. She was wearing dark-rimed plastic glasses and a light shade of pink lipstick. She was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a flowered sleeveless top. Her skin wasn't the firmest Jack had seen. Older women really need to cover up their sagging skin more. "Do I scare you? Bernice, is it?"

She gave no answer, but offered a twitchy smile.

"I know I'm weird," Jack admitted. "That happens to a person after years of being scared so much and so long you go insane. But I'm not insane. My mom is though. Anyway, that's what the doctor thinks."

The lady listened. Her eyes were glued to Jack's damaged face. Jack turned his face to show her his left jaw. "See this?"

She nodded twice. "My father hit me. Do you want to know why?"

She squirmed where she stood. She glanced at the door, wishing she could leave.

Jack moved a few feet over to a paper-towel stand. He wadded off a few sheets and opened the freezer. Pulling out an icetray, he twisted the plastic, causing cracking sounds. He turned the tray upsidedown onto the paper towels, dumping them out. Tossing the tray noisily into the sink, he wrapped the papertowels up and gently pressed the ice to his singed skin. "You know," Jack began. "You haven't answered any of my questions."

Bernice looked like it pained her to say the following words. "Why did you father hit you?"

Jack smiled, even though it ached his face to do so. "You don't really want to know, do you?"

"No, not really."

"Has your father ever hit you, Bernice?" His voice was purposely icy and condescending. Who did she think she was?

Bernice looked down and shook her head. "No."

"Has he ever threatened to kill you?"

"No."

"Has he ever threatened to beat the crap out of you?"

"No."

"Have you ever seen him beat your mom even after she was on the floor and couldn't fight back?"

"No."

"Have you ever been knocked unconscious because he hit you with your own baseball bat after you came back from a game with your friends?"

"No."

"Had he ever punched you so hard you couldn't breath properly for two weeks because he had broken three of your ribs, and refused to take you to the hospital?"

She finally looked up. She looked ready to cry. "Stop it."

Jack had been waiting for it. But he feigned innocence. "What's wrong, Bernice?"

"Just stop it."

"You know, for a social worker, you aren't very social."

"I'll be going now."

"Nonsense!" Jack waved his hand. "You're my guest. Have a seat."

"No, really. I'll go. I can see you don't like my being here."

Jack opened his mouth in false shock. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes. Goodbye." Bernice opened the door.

"You really thought you could help me, didn't you?" Jack asked her, prodding her feelings like a person poked burning embers to draw more flames. She stopped and stared stoically out of the door. Jack continued, "If you haven't been hit by your father, how will you know what I'm feeling? How will you know about my experiences? The only way to understand, Bernice, is for you to share it with me. But as it is, you're worthless to me. You're no help."

Bernice started to take a step out of the door. "I'll send someone else." She didn't look at him, as scared as she would have been to look at a gorgon.

"No one can help me," Jack paused. "Least of all, you."


	7. Sneaking

_A/N: I wrote a part in this chapter that says Gotham City is in Gotham County. I'm pretty sure that's correct, but if it isn't please let me know and I will correct it right away. This chapter looks long again, but it's mostly dialogue. I didn't have much time to correct mistakes, so sorry if you find any. Thanks for reading. _

_**Chapter 7 - Sneaking**_

The next day, Sunday, Jack woke up around ten. He had managed to get the number of the lady his mother worked with, and also, with a good measure of glee, told his father's boss over the phone that he would not be coming in to work for an indefinite period of time.

Jack was surprised when Bernice called him Sunday morning. He didn't think she was courageous enough to weather another chilling exchange of dialogue with him. Jack knew he had the uncanny ability to make something as sweet as apple pie seem as evil as a serial killer. All she was, was easy prey. She informed him that his father was going to have a hearing on Tuesday to set bail. When asked if Jack was going to see a bail bondsman, Jack immediately refused. "Let him rot."

Bernice didn't seem to care either way. She just wanted to get off the phone. "The hearing is at eleven in the morning. If you need I can write you a note to excuse you from school."

"I don't care about that."

"I thought you wouldn't," Bernice snapped.

Jack was about to let that slide, but he couldn't resist prodding her patience. "Braver on the phone?"

There was silence.

Jack laughed. "And you thought you could help me," he said the same thing from the day before, rubbing salt in an open wound.

"I have referred you to another social worker. His name is Anthony Perez. Maybe he will be of more help to you."

"I doubt it," Jack said sarcastically.

"Have a good day," she said mechanically and hung up the phone, not even waiting for a reply.

Jack let the phone drop back onto the receiver. He yawned. But he knew he couldn't go back to sleep. He had to go to the hospital to see his mother.

At about noon he set out again, this time, using the car. However, he still took thirty minutes to get there. On the bus it had taken an hour.

He checked in with Vicki and walked into the doctor's office. Anderson was on the phone and smiled a hello. The window faced East, so today the sunlight was not falling through. The slats of the blinds were open, illuminating the beige painted room brilliantly. There was chocolate brown trim on the edges, near the floor and near the ceiling. These colors went together much better. At least someone had some color sense. Jack seated himself on the same chair as the previous time, and gave a distasteful glance at the business cards. He turned them away this time. He couldn't stand to look at it anymore. That wasn't lost on the doctor. He smiled again, frowning slightly, showing curiosity.

He finally hung up the phone. "You don't like my cards," he stated.

"No," Jack said airily.

"Why is that?"

"The colors don't go together."

"Do things like that bother you?"

Jack looked at the doctor. "Yeah, things like that. And things like people trying to analyze me when I don't want them to."

The doctor laughed, grating Jack's nerves. "I think you may have a twinge of O.C.D."

_I think you may have a twinge of you're-about-to-get-your-ass-thrown-out-of-the-window. _Jack shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, I'm glad we made an appointment to see each other today."

Jack noticed it then, a vague, triumphant look on Anderson's face. It was like he had been playing hide-and-seek and had just won. Jack didn't like it one bit.

"Your mother told me she was born and raised in Gotham. And that's where she was traumatized. That's why the whole family moved. You've never been to Gotham, am I right?"

"Yes."

"I took a shot in the dark and called Gotham General. I asked if there had ever been a woman by your mother's name - maiden name - admitted to the hospital around eighteen years ago. Well, at the time it was their policy to destroy hospital records after ten years of inactivity. So on hospital record it looked like there never was a woman with her name admitted to the hospital. So I called Gotham County Police Department. I asked for a police report on a rape for a young woman with your mother's name. They turned up only one exact match for the five-year period preceding her family's move to Florida."

"So she _was _raped."

"Yes." But the doctor lost his light voice and sighed. "Your mother's been through some hell."

Jack found those words to be highly out of professional character, and he frowned. "Well what happened to her?" He asked ominously.

The doctor shook his head. "I can't tell you. She hasn't even told me herself, I just found out because I made a few phone calls. But she has to tell me first."

"Why, you already know what happened to her."

"But she isn't ready to confide in me yet. How will it look if I undermined her choice to keep this from me and came to her and told her that I knew what had happened to her?"

"But you already _do_ know. Aren't you lying to her if you pretend you don't know? How does that make you more trustworthy?"

The doctor sighed and shook his head. "I'll admit it doesn't. But she isn't ready. But now that I know, I'll be able to draw the confession out of her more quickly."

"So you're not going to tell me what happened to her?"

"I'm afraid not."

"But she's my mother!"

The doctor shook his head again. "Listen, this information is in this file," the doctor pointed to a stack of files. He even pulled one out and set it in front of Jack. "This is confidential information. I can't disclose anything to you, even though you're her son. I can only tell you what you need to know. No more."

Jack didn't like the fact that the file was sitting just in front of him, but he couldn't take it. Was the only thing stopping him this clean-cut man in his mid-forties sitting in front of him, taunting him?

But Jack contained himself. Just barely. How he wanted to snatch that shiny black pen from Anderson's coat and stab him in the eye. He might actually _enjoy _the blood destroying the white perfection, simply because the doctor was so despicable. Jack thought he could hold his food in just this one time. He would have to, the chance to reduce the doctor to a screaming mess under his own desk would come only once...

"Do you have any more questions?"

"Huh?" Jack looked at the doctor. He had spaced out with his eyes on the file. He remembered where they were in their disagreement. "No, that's all. Wait, no. How long is my mother going to be here?"

"There is a recovery center we are going to send her too. I usually spend about half the week there while my patients no longer need continuous monitoring, but definitely do need some manner of counseling from a psychiatrist. It's like a nursing home, the way it works. But they have their own room, their own space. You're welcome to visit them at any time. They can even have their own things in the room. There are a few rules about what they can have though. Like, no knives or sharp objects. Things like that. All you do is check in with the nurses at the front desk, and show her what you're bringing in."

"What sort of medicine is she going to be on?"

"We have her on Valium right now. It seems to do the trick."

"What about money?"

"Vicki will tell you who your Case Manager is. He or she will deal with all the financial aspects," Anderson put the file on top of the stack. "If you have insurance that should cover most of it. You may just have to pay a small amount."

Jack nodded and glanced at the file surreptitiously. He stood up. "When will she be moved to this recovery center?"

"Probably tomorrow. Vicki will give you the address, all right?"

_Vicki, Vicki, Vicki. Is there anything _you_ do besides talk all day?_ "Okay."

Jack left the office and went to his mother's room. She was awake, but looked sleepy. "Hi honey," she said sweetly. She reached out a hand to Jack.

"Hi Mom." Jack twisted the corners of his mouth ever so slightly into a smile. He pulled up the same chair and sat on it. The bed was at the lowered setting, so he only had to tilt his head up slightly to look at his mother's face.

"I was looking for my things. Do you know where they are?" She started to look around again, as though she could have missed a spot.

"No, they're not here. I took them home."

"Oh. Why? Am I going to stay here?"

"No, they're moving you to a recovery center."

"Well I need my clothes, Jack."

"I know. I'll bring you some today. The doctor said they're going to take you there tomorrow."

"Well, what's it like?" She sat up and looked eagerly at Jack. She looked abnormally happy to be going to some place other than home. Didn't she know she was just a prisoner now?

"They said you get to have your own room. I guess you get therapy every day or something like that."

"Sounds exciting."

"Mom, you're not going on vacation. You're going to be stuck there as long as they want you to be."

His mother put a patronizing hand on his face. It was still hurting from being slammed into the hot hood of the police car. "What happened to your face?" She asked, frowning with concern.

He noticed she wasn't asking about the swollen jaw. She only needed one guess to figure out where _that_ came from. "Some stupid guy," Jack said dismissively.

"Why don't you get some nice friends?"

"He wasn't my _friend_," Jack muttered contemptuously. "He was an asshole."

"Don't use bad words, you sound like your father."

Jack froze. "I'm _not _him," Jack said darkly.

"I know, honey, but sometimes you should be careful not to sound like him."

"I don't sound like him."

His mother shook her hands. "Okay, okay. You don't sound like him."

Jack was still feeling deeply insulted that she would even utter such terrible words. Another reason was that she hated his father too... Didn't she?

"Mom."

"Yes?"

Jack didn't continue. He hesitated and looked at his mother's eyes. They were a light brown, like honey. Lighter than his own, and very naive. "Were you raped when you were young?"

At first she just blinked. Then the flesh on her face visibly drained of blood. Even her lips lost color. She pressed them together. Jack saw a tremor go through her body and he saw it coming, but didn't dodge. She slapped him sharply on his right cheek with an open hand, just like a mother would. Not like his dad, who used a closed fist. Jack had not really expected this reaction. She had never hit him before. He had figured she would completely clam up, maybe even break down and pour out her locked up emotions.

Jack felt his cheek still smarting from the slap. This weekend was _really_ not good for his face.

"Don't _ever_ bring that up again," his mother hissed more darkly than he ever thought possible of her.

Jack finally allowed his left hand to touch his face where it was stinging. This is what it felt like to not be able to believe something that just happened? What a weird feeling.

Jack looked at his mother again. She was no longer looking at him. Her joy was gone as though it had never been there. She was staring at her bright red fingernails. It looked like she thought that, perhaps, they could offer her some consolation.

Jack stood up and left without saying goodbye. His mother didn't call for him to return.

Like he had promised his mother, however, Jack brought some clean clothes to the hospital again, along with some shoes and her purse too. He didn't go into her room, but dropped the items off at the nurses' station.

Jack was about to leave the hospital when he started to wonder if he would be able to get a peek at his mother's file, which he guessed was still inside the doctor's office. He made his way to the doctor's office - he had the path memorized now - and he stopped at the reception desk. There were surprisingly few people there, and there was a huge sign hanging from the desk that said what the visiting hours were, and that the hours between two and five were "Quiet Time." It was invariably clear that few staff members were needed at this time, and the one person that was at the desk didn't notice him - she was too engrossed in her work.

Jack waited for her to turn away or get up to leave the desk. Even after what seemed like five minutes she didn't move. Jack sighed and sat down on the glossy floor. He leaned on the wall like a homeless man and looked around the corner at the desk every now and then to see if she was still there. The hallways were deserted at this hour.

Jack was careful not to stretch his legs out too far, in case the woman noticed his sneakered feet on the floor.

Finally, the phone rang. He heard the lady say okay a few times and she said, "I'll get it to you right now. Just give me a few minutes to fax it."

Hanging up the phone, she stood up and disappeared into the doorway behind the desk. Jack seized the chance and walked quickly to the doctor's office. He half expected the door to be locked but it wasn't. He eased the door open and the room was empty. He smiled and shut the door behind him. He rounded the desk and went to the stack of files on the doctor's desk. His mother's file was under a few other files. He pulled it out and opened it. On top were a few stapled sheets of paper. They looked like fax paper, and on the top, was a cover sheet that said, Gotham County Police Department with an official-looking emblem on it. Jack flipped through the papers and saw a lot of small scratchy writing.

Jack didn't want to be caught sneaking around, so he took the stapled sheets and peeked out of the doctor's room again. The desk was still empty. Jack closed the door and tucked the sheets of paper in his back pocket. Then he saw the lady returning to the desk, a bowl of steaming food in her hands.

Jack gave an exasperated sigh and wondered what to do next. In a miraculous stroke of luck, the lady put her food down and disappeared into the back room again. Jack went to the desk to see where she was, and she was out of sight. Using this opportunity, Jack made a copy of each page on the copy machine with shaking hands and with a sigh of relief, snatch the copies and hastily walked back to the doctor's office. He shut the door quietly and sighed again.

Jack folded the copies and stuck them into his pocket, and then replaced the pages into the file, but not before creasing out any folds he may have made. He stuck the file back under a few others. Jack took a deep breath and let out to steady himself. Now all he had to do was leave.

As he was about to close the door again after he was out in the hallway, he had the misfortune of getting one last glimpse of the ugly business cards. He stopped and went in. Jack grabbed the entire stack of cards and was about to throw it into the garbage bin, when he noticed that the windows were actually slightly open. He let all but one float out of the window on the gentle breeze, watching them waft down into traffic.

He kept one in his hand and went back to the door, but received the shock of his life when the same lady at the desk came into view. "What do you think you're doing?" She demanded. "You can't enter these offices."

Jack held up the card. "I just wanted to get one. I forgot."

She frowned disapprovingly. "You could have just asked me."

"I didn't see anyone at the desk. I actually thought the doctor would still be here. I was here a little while ago."

She nodded, still suspicious. "Please don't ever do that again. This area is for doctors only, and _only_ people with appointments."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think he'd mind. He seems like a nice guy." Jack almost started laughing when he said those words.

"Oh yes, Doctor Anderson is a good man." She walked Jack back to the desk and Jack keenly waved goodbye and rushed out of the hospital.

He would read those papers at home and find out what happened to his mother.


	8. Mother's Secret

_A/N: All the locations in this chapter are part of this amazing map I found of Gotham City on the internet. _

_**Chapter 8 - Mother's Secret**_

Jack pulled the copies out of his back pocket and tossed the folded wad on the passenger seat beside him. As he drove home he constantly passed it glances, wishing he could read it. He realized he was shaking the whole time. Maybe reading the police report wasn't such a good idea. What if he could never look at his mother the same way again?

Jack pulled into the short cracked driveway and turned off the ignition. Today was another hot day. The lack of air-conditioning in the car was not helping matters, and his shirt was stuck to his back. He peeled it away and took his shirt off. Breeze wafted in through the open window, cooling his skin.

Jack picked up the papers with sweaty fingers. He unfolded it with a rumpling noise and read the first page. It was just a note to the doctor.

_Dr. Anderson, _

_due to the severity of this particular report, I am only submitting the written report portion, and not the photographs. I judge that you won't need anymore than the report anyway. If you do need the photographs for any reason, please say so and I will fax those as well. _

_John Macy_

_County Sherriff _

Jack took a breath and turned the page.

_Case No. 08/26/72/1176_

_Incident: Rape_

_Reporting Officer: Arnold M. Garrison_

_Date: August 26th, 1972_

_Received a call at 9:32 pm about an alleged rape. Responded to call at 9:39 pm on Amusement Mile near a circus tent. The location of the crime is a short alley created by storage sheds belonging to Allen Wallace, property owner. _

_There were no witnesses to the rape as far as the investigation has revealed. The victim is Sharon Wilson of Park Row, Gotham. The victim was hospitalized for lesions and bruises, two broken ribs, and a broken right wrist. Hospital staff was told to obtain any fluid samples for testing. The victim is sedated, and unable to be questioned at this time. _

_Further questioning of people present in the area earlier that day reveals that the victim was talking to three men near the circus tent between two and four p.m. in the afternoon. There appeared to be no problems. The men were members of a performing clown troupe who rented the tent on a regular basis for nightly performances. _

_Will hand over investigation to Detective Wally Mason. _

The next page was short, and was written by Detective Mason. He only mentioned that the three men Jack's mother had talked to were questioned separately on the day after the initial police report date, and he listed three other police report numbers. Jack knew it would be a miracle of he could get his hands on those reports. It was most likely each of those scumbags corraborating each other's tales of innocence or alibis.

The next page was long, dated by Mason.

_The victim has been through surgery for the rape injuries. She is no longer sedated but awake, and recovering. She agreed to talk to me as long as her mother was present. The following is a written copy of the recorded statement she presented, as well as a following Q&A. _

_"My name is Sharon Wilson. I was born March 26, 1956. I live at 92 Park Row in Gotham City. Four days ago, on August 26th, 1972, I was raped by three men after a show that was held in the red and white tent near the storage sheds at the edge of Roger's Yacht Basin. The time was around nine p.m. I had been with two of my friends during the show but I had wanted to watch the yachts. I just told them to go home because I would go home soon. I only live about five minutes away. I had spoken to one of the men earlier and even though he showed interest I turned him down. He had not been wearing his costume at the time. But later while I was sitting on the grass near the railing of the water I hear footsteps behind me. They were the three men from the show. _

_At first I wasn't worried. For about thirty minutes they sat with me and talked. They were all drinking and offered me some several times. Even though I told them no at first, after I saw that they were drinking from the same bottles as what they offered me, I took it and had some. After about another thirty minutes, I told them I had to get going. But they insisted that I stay with them. The guy that I had been talking to was especially quiet the whole time, and when I stood up he pulled me back down roughly. After that another man punched me in the stomach. I couldn't breath for several seconds. By that time the third one had stuffed a piece of cloth in my mouth and held a hand over my mouth. I tried to get away by swinging my arms and kicking but the second one, who had punched me, took one of the bottles and swung it at my arm, breaking my wrist. He pulled my skirt so hard he ripped it..._

Jack stopped reading. He knew what was going to happen next. He placed the papers on the passenger seat again, wondering if he should continue. He couldn't shake this feeling somewhere deep inside him that if he continued he might be mentally sick. Who _wants _to read how their mother was raped?

But many things were clear now. He had imagined that his mother had experienced something terrible with clowns, but he had no idea the crisis was of such horrendous proportions. He had never raped anyone before, but he did have an older friend who told him about how he had raped a girl once. Jack hadn't really been interested in mimicking that sort of animalistic behavior. It was too rough and brainless, sort of the opposite of his own personality. He preferred persuasion, not force. Anyone could create force. But persuasion, well, that took real skill. Jack also knew this friend of his was a drug pusher, as well as someone who used drugs, but on a minimal and controlled level. Jack had never really been interested in that either. He didn't understand what destroying one's own brain cells would achieve, except make a person stupid or do stupid things they wouldn't normally do. Besides, people on drugs were clumsy liars and and even clumsier thieves, their memory and planning skills virtually destroyed. Jack was satisfied with being himself, uninhibited and uninfluenced by anything. He didn't need any_one_. Or any_thing._

Jack glanced at the page again and caught some disturbing words given by his mother in the statement. "...he moved over so another guy could...They looked like monsters...I couldn't scream...I could feel my skin tearing..."

Jack turned the pages facedown in a quick movement. He couldn't read anymore. Not right now.

He folded the pages back along the creases and put them back into his pocket. He grabbed his damp shirt and stepped out of the car, locking the door.

Stepping inside the warm house - the AC was off - Jack tossed his sweaty shirt on the floor and pulled the pages out of his pocket. He went to his room to quickly stuff the papers in a hiding spot he had already picked out - under the test tubes of his chemistry set. He felt a little embarrassed to think he had a junior chemistry set in his room like some education obsessed freak, but the truth was he really found chemistry magnificent. There was so much chaos and yet it was all so elegantly designed. All the totally unpredictable results from mixing chemicals together. Who would ever guess that dropping a lump of potassium in water would create small skittering flame and a popping explosion? Who would even think that two toxic elements like sodium and chlorine would cause a harmless substance called salt? It was so amazing it appeared defied the laws of physics. But the incredible thing was, physics - and not to mention life itself - was based entirely on these reactions alone. There was perfect order under the guise of chaos.

Jack felt cooler inside his room. He took of his sneakers and jeans and sat on his bed, looking forward to going back to sleep. After the sweat from his body had dried up he laid down on top of the blanket, and closed his eyes.

Just as he was falling asleep he heard a car engine running obnoxiously outside his house, and then turn off. He dragged himself up and looked out the window, seeing a young Hispanic man step out. At first Jack thought he was wearing a full-sleeved black shirt under a black T-shirt, but the truth was both his arms were heavily, seamlessly covered in tattoos. Jack rolled his eyes.

This must have been Anthony Perez. Jack started getting up and pulled on a pair of clean, but torn, light blue jeans and a black button-down shirt.

The guy knocked on the door and Jack heard it through the wall into his room. "I'm coming," he muttered.

Jack took his time reaching the door. "I'm coming," he said again, even though the guy couldn't have possibly heard him.

Just before he opened the door, Jack muttered, "Fucker."

Jack just stared boredly at him, but the guy smiled brightly. "Hey, man. I'm Anthony Perez. You can call me Tony."

"Oh joy," Jack muttered.

"Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah," Jack said, but stepped aside, otherwise Perez would have crashed into him. "I guess not," Jack said to himself and pushed the door shut with a soft slam. He let his eyes glance over Perez's appearance. He was wearing baggy, dark-blue jeans and athletic sandals. His tattoos traveled all the way up over the neckline of his T-shirt. After looking around at the house Perez turned back to Jack, who noticed a small, simple silver cross around a silver chain around the guy's neck.

Jack knew this social-worker was a whole other breed from that other woman. Bernice? Eunice? Agnes? He didn't really care to remember. Jack sat down at the kitchen table. He hadn't bothered to clean up Friday's dinner and it still sat there on the plates and even the floor where his father had broken the plate. There were a couple of flies and a vague smell that had actually gotten worse during the day. It was starting to rot. Perez was already making himself at home by starting to pick up the dirty plates and silverware. "Come and help me," Perez requested.

"Listen, this is my house. Leave that stuff where it is."

Perez continued as though Jack had said nothing.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Jack finally demanded, pulling Perez's shoulder to stop him. He glanced coolly over at Jack and said, "I'm Tony. Don't fuck with me."

--

_A/N: I would have gone into more detail with the police report, but this story is rated T. I'm going to do my best to keep it that rating, unless M-rated violence is totally necessary to the plot. In this case I didn't think it was because everyone knows what happens next without going on about it. I'm sorry this chapter is so short and kind of disjointed. I wrote it in a little bit of a hurry. If I had not posted it then it would have taken me another day longer to post it, so here it is. Thank you all so much reading! :D_


	9. Religious Rebuttal

_**Chapter 9 - Religious Rebuttal**_

Jack yanked Perez's shoulder, making him step away from the table. They were of equal height. "Do you really think you can just come into my house like you own it?"

"Yeah. I do. Because you don't know what the fuck you're doing with yourself." He had a heavy Mexican accent.

Jack didn't reply out of being dumbstruck, as most people usually would be by such a statement, he was just curious about where Perez was coming from. "And you do?" Jack asked.

Perez smiled, but it wasn't a friendly one. Jack could tell he didn't like him. Which seemed strange because Perez didn't look like the kind of guy to jump to conclusions. He looked calculated and strategic, taking in everything in one sweeping glance. He was extremely controlled, being able to hold very still as he studied Jack in return, his lips barely moving when he said, "You shouldn't have talked to Bernice like that."

Jack burst out laughing. He expected to stop right away, but he realized it was too funny. This was the reason this idiot was so angry. Jack doubled up slightly, hooting with laughter. He was amazed that Perez stayed his hand because he did look ready to hit him. Jack was tearing up, and he draped his arm over the kitchen counter and suppressed his laughter. He could feel his face getting hot from the effort. He finally took a deep breath and looked at Perez. He looked highly insulted, his hands balled into fists. "Is she your...your girlfriend?" Jack burst out laughing again.

Perez couldn't take it anymore. This much was apparent when he shoved Jack against the wall next to the front door. "Ow," Jack said between laughs. But he got it under control. He wiped his eyes and focused on Perez's furious face. "What's so special about Bernice?"

"She saved my life," Perez said after a _long_ time.

Jack raised his eyebrows as Perez let him go. "How did she do that? She couldn't even stand it when I just talked to her."

"I don't know. At the time she was like my mom."

"She took you into her house?"

Perez shook his head. "No, I mean, she reminded me of my mom."

"Oh."

Perez returned to clearing the table. He walked around to the kitchen looking for a garbage bin. He scraped the food off into it and slid the dishes into the sink. He said nothing for several minutes as he slowly cleaned off the table. But Jack knew he wanted to speak. He waited for the life story part.

"My mom was killed when I was ten."

_There it is..._ Jack thought smugly to himself.

"I did something wrong. And they killed her to punish me."

Jack didn't reply. He knew he didn't have any sympathy whatsoever. _Shouldn't have done something wrong_, he thought.

"When I was your age, I was arrested. They sent me to juvee. I was there for three months, and then I met Bernice."

Jack sighed and pulled out his father's chair, seating himself. He slouched into the back of the chair, basically waiting for Perez to finish his ranting. Perez comfortably continued to clean up the table, and even got on his knees to scrub the dried food off the floor. He picked up the pieces of the broken plate and dumped them in the garbage. "You know, if God didn't send Bernice I don't know where I would be today."

"God? Who's He?" Jack asked sarcastically.

Perez missed the tone of voice, and answered his question like it had been a real one. "He's everything, man. You live and die by His word."

"Not me," Jack denied.

Perez laughed. "Everyone."

"Well, I make my own decisions."

"It doesn't matter. He made the rules."

"So what? I don't have to follow those rules."

"Yeah, that's how the devil thinks, and wants us to think."

Jack waved his hand dismissively. "You know, I really couldn't care less about all this stuff."

"That's unfortunate." Perez had finished cleaning the floor, and he stood up. "You know, one day you'll die, and you'll have to answer to Him."

"I'll worry about that day when it happens."

"Well, it's too late then."

"Listen, God doesn't care about me, He doesn't care about anyone. He makes this fucking world, and wants us to jump through some hoops for His own reasons and if we don't, we die."

Perez shook his head, amazingly patient. "You got it all wrong, _Ese_."

"Well, whatever. I told you, I don't care. Think of me as an atheist."

"Doesn't matter if you don't believe."

"Fine. Think of me as a hedonist."

"Still doesn't matter." Perez went into the kitchen and grabbed some papertowels. He wet them in the sink and wiped down the table. He tossed the dirty towels in the garbage and sat down on Jack's chair. He leaned forward. "Listen. Anything corrupt in this world is not from God. He doesn't corrupt. He's life. He's love. He's everything good." He took the small crucifix and showed it to Jack, then kissed it once affectionately.

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying, the devil corrupted things from the beginning. That's why there's anything bad happening. My mother getting killed, that's the devil. Your father hitting you, that's the devil."

"If the devil can get away with causing problems, then what difference does it make?"

"Who ever said he gets away with it?"

"He's getting away with it right now."

Perez shrugged. "God wins in the end."

"And until then we're just supposed to rot?"

"There is something eternal after this world that's much longer than a lifetime."

"Yeah, sure."

"Listen, God isn't controlled by time. He _made_ time. He made everything. He even made the devil. And whatever the devil does, He has to allow it first for the devil to do it in the first place."

"So why does He allow all kinds of shit to happen?"

"To test us. If we just get everything handed to us all the time, like a good life, then we'd never learn to appreciate God for His blessings."

"We have to play His sick game," Jack muttered.

"No. We're playing the devil's game. And if we don't follow God we lose."

Jack just stared at Perez, and Perez stared back. His eyes were shining with eagerness to continue the discussion. Jack just shook his head. "Someone always loses."

Perez tapped the table with his knuckles. "Listen, it doesn't have to be you."

Perez ended the conversation abruptly, and changed topics. They talked about Jack's father's bail hearing on Tuesday. Jack tried to avoid getting into the responsibility of going, but Perez didn't quit insisting. Jack finally said yes to get him to shut-up. Man, he was annoying.

Perez excused himself and went out to his car. He returned with a business card and a notepad. He wrote a note for Jack to take to school with him the day after the bail hearing to avoid getting an un-excused absence. After he handed it to Jack, he said, "Don't fuckin' throw it away either. I'll know about it if you do."

Jack grudgingly put it in his pocket.

"I'll come pick you up at ten. The hearing is at ten-thirty."

"Fine," Jack said.

"Will you be all right by yourself?"

He was getting so sick of hearing that. "If anyone asks me that one more time I'll fucking slit their throat."

Perez laughed heartily. "Well you won't hear it from me then."

"I wasn't joking."

Perez laughed again. "You're funny." Perez waved goodbye and left.

Jack shook his head. "I really wasn't joking," he said to himself.


	10. I Hate Mondays

_**Chapter 10 - I Hate Mondays**_

Jack laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Fucking school. Like he didn't have enough problems.

He waited until the time was seven-fifty, ten minutes before class actually _started_. Then he climbed out of bed. He ended up missing his first class entirely. And he waltzed into his second period class as though that was the most normal thing to do.

The class was quietly doing worksheets. Jack almost shuddered. The horror. The teacher looked up once and went back to reading some papers. She was a middle-aged woman with rimless glasses and dyed-red hair. Her heavy-set, chunky rear was parked comfortably on the cushioned computer chair. "Don't bother sitting. Go to the office."

Jack gave her a sideways glance as he flashed a toothy, charismatic smile. "Oh come on, you don't mean that."

She rolled her eyes and took of her glasses. She looked sternly at Jack and said, "I mean it."

Jack took his backpack off his shoulders and slouched a little. "Please? I'll behave."

She frowned, her eyes darting ever so slightly to Jack's jaw. She gave him a worried glance, but said nothing about the bulge on his jaw. She shoo-ed him towards his desk with a pen in her hand. "Go. Sit down. We'll talk after class."

Jack smiled again and sauntered to his desk.

Next to his desk there was a blond girl. Well, her hair was dyed charcoal black. It was really quite striking since her hair was so straight. Marisa looked like one of those haunting manga drawings come to life. She even had the huge luminous eyes to go with it. Jack wasn't what most people would call head-over-heels, but he was deeply taken with her. She smelled like sweet berries and looked like a goddess. What else was there? Well, she did laugh at his jokes. Most people didn't. Probably because they were too morbid. Unfortunately, thought, she wasn't too smart. She probably laughed to fill in the gap, not because she actually thought he was funny.

She waved coyly at him as he walked over. Jack smiled and slid down into his seat. She was on his right, and too far away for him to give her a kiss. She just patted his hand went back to work.

He knew she wouldn't notice the bump on his face. She wasn't the most observant person around. And even if she did notice it, it wasn't a conscious thought. She was, he hated to say, like an animal in that sense - noticing things but not questioning it. She was one of those girls who only had their looks going for them. One of those girls who ended up finding some rich guy to take care of them.

The teacher came over and handed Jack a worksheet, but he just spent the class daydreaming about wreaking havoc on the school so that he wouldn't have to do this fucking worksheet. If somehow, there was no school anymore for a while. _Hey, did you hear? Someone blew up the school-- _No, no. _Hey, someone blew up all the schools in the county. _Maybe he could send an email to the school office and say there was a bomb somewhere in the school. Then they would have to evacuate everyone. Then he wouldn't have to sit here and do this fucking worksheet.

He hadn't even noticed that the class was over. He felt a tap on his shoulder. "Huh?" He looked over to his left and saw Marisa standing there. She smiled at him. "You have to hand in your worksheet."

Jack looked at the despicable sheet of photocopied paper with black dots all over it. He had only answered two questions on American History. He picked up his things and shoved them violently inside his bookbag. Holding just the worksheet, he walked over to the teacher's desk and let it drift onto her desk. He was about to walk out with Marisa when the teacher said, "Wait. Jack I want to speak with you."

Jack heaved a sigh of annoyance and looked at Marisa, indicating he wanted her to wait outside. She didn't question him, but did as she was told.

When all the students had left, the teacher cleared her throat. Jack stood in front of her desk and waited for her to speak.

"Jack, do you need to see a counselor?"

"No."

"Listen. There are facilities here to help students who have problems, either at home, with other students or gangs or anything like that."

"So?"

She cleared her throat again. "So I think that maybe they could be of some service to you. Do you need someone to help you?"

Jack leaned down and closer, even though there was no one else in the room. He looked into the teacher's grayish eyes surrounded by lumpy mascara and blue eyeshadow. He said quietly with the stillness of an early morning lake, "I don't need anyone."

Without waiting for an answer, Jack walked out. He realized that was becoming his motto. Well there was nothing that held more truth. He actually didn't need anyone. Even his own mother, whom he supposed he loved more than anyone else in the world. But when he was honest with himself, he knew he needed something. Some sublime relationship to complete him. He knew Marisa wasn't it. In fact, he wasn't even with her for any real reason. Maybe it was just to comform. He wondered sometimes if he was gay, since he didn't really feel much for Marisa, who was a gorgeous girl. But he decided he probably wasn't, since he felt nothing at all for any men as far as he could remember. He didn't even harbor any homophobic tendencies, which he supposed were characteristic of men who were afraid of gays, becasue eventually, they were afraid of _being_ gay. _Yeah_, he thought. _I'm not gay._

Marisa was leaning on the dark-green metal lockers a few feet away. There was a guy talking to her. His name was Thomas, but since he hated his name everyone called him Tim, even though Tim was a shorter name for Timothy. He usually wore black clothes, forgetting that real goths don't wear hundred-dollar shirts or Prada sunglasses. Real goths weren't rick pricks. He was just a spoiled brat complaining about nothing. They were still friends anyway.

Neither of them noticed Jack right away, since there were still people in the hallways. Sometimes Jack didn't like the way Tim looked at Marisa. They were all friends, sure. But he didn't like that.

Jack took a couple of long easy strides towards them, surprising them. They looked guilty for sure.

Jack narrowed his eyes a little thoughtfully and stared at Marisa. "You're not _that_ stupid are you?" He asked her nastily.

She gave an tittered awkwardly and asked, "What are you talking about?"

Jack glanced at Tim, who looked equally uneasy.

After a few tense moments Jack shrugged and leaned back on the lockers next to Marisa. "Nothing."

The other two let out a quiet sigh of relief and exchanged glances. Jack knew they shared the next class together, but he had his own to go to.

He stayed there, however. The other two, after much silence and many sneaky looks at each other, finally focused on Jack. "We'll see you at lunch, okay?" Marisa said patronizingly. Jack just stared at her, cutting into her bluish, almost Liz-Taylor-violet eyes with his own darkly brown ones. "I really hope you're _not _that stupid," Jack said dangerously, and walked past them without another glance.

His next class was Chemistry. If his relationship with Marisa fell out - well, _when_ it did - at least he had his one true love. It would never betray him, never cheat him, never leave him without an explanation or answer. Even love and emotions were chemicals. Everything was methodical and connected through chemistry. No one appreciated it more than he did. No one understood it as well as he did. Not even his own teacher, just a short fat man who, along with his Chemistry teaching position, coached football. What a waste of such a vital position.

He wished he could be the teacher. Not to teach of course. Who'd want to waste their time teaching the delicate balances and reactions of chemistry to a bunch of idiotic teenagers who cared about what to wear the next day and what was happening in other people's lives because their own was so fucking boring?

No, he wanted access to the labs. He would get the keys. He would get the whole entire chemistry lab all to himself. The Bunsen burners attached to the coutners. The sleek curved taps that tapered down into the black sinks. The test tubes and flasks and beakers, tongs and crucibles. The unmistakable scent of corrosive and dangerous chemicals. What a great place to let your creativity flow.

Today they were making scented bath salts. The teacher had told them to remember to bring some oil of essence. Jack didn't know what the fuck that was, he wasn't some girl. He just ended up borrowing some from a person next to him. Turns out they didn't need the whole bottle anyway, which was so small it probably held only a grant total of about seven drops.

After about forty-five minutes, with his hands smelling like some rotten flowers, Jack left the class feeling pretty disappointed. Why couldn't they just do whatever they wanted? Maybe someone would accidentally mix the wrong things together and cause a fire. Maybe they would release noxious gas that would choke everyone. Where was the fun in going by the book?

Jack was one of the first to get to the cafeteria. Lunch was pizza and chocolate pudding. It would have been nice if the pizza wasn't just a block of lard and the pudding wasn't a lumpy dead monster.

Jack poked the pudding, half-expecting it to move like that thing from _The Addams Family _movie. But it didn't. He was strangely disappointed. Nothing interesting ever happened.

That was, with the exception of Tim and Marisa walking into the cafeteria with their arms around each other. Jack didn't really notice what was happening. He went back to his food. When the sight _did_ register in his head, he did a double take. But they had already parted, since they had seen Jack looking. The two of them stopped walking in, and after a moment of staring at Jack from across the cavernous cafeteria, they turned and walked out.

Jack simply sat there. Not really hurt or anything. He hadn't really liked Marisa anyway. She really was that stupid. He had been hoping he was wrong. Well, that had been his own mistake. He didn't think the three of them would be friends anymore.

Jack knew already that he was going to make them pay. A good scare sounded right. No one was going to make a fool out of him.

He left his food on the table and his bookbag slumped on the floor. He ran after them and found them turn a corner out of the hallway that led to the cafeteria. He jogged around the corner and caught up to them.

"Hey, guys, what's going on?" He asked cheerily. He was not out of breath. Marisa was already backing away, expecting a fight. Jack was only about five-and-a-half feet tall. Maybe a bit taller. Tim was already six feet tall, with a muscular build.

"Jack, listen, we're sorry," Tim started.

Jack instantly lost his benign tone. "Save it!" He snapped savagely. Marisa yelped and Tim flinched a little.

"How long?" Jack asked.

Marisa frowned slightly, and looked at Tim, who shook his head. "That's not important," he said.

Jack nodded once, slowly, his body fully controlled, even though he was about to explode with fury at being cheated. "Is that right?"

"Look, we're sorry this happened."

"Not as sorry as you should be."

--

_A/N: Okay, I'm sure that everyone by now is expecting some sort of madness-induced Joker violence, and don't worry, you won't be disappointed. All in good time. Remember the slouched, twitchy man with the painted face... Jack becomes him. _


	11. Making Bail

_A/N: I have a splitting headache. If this chapter has any mistakes or spelling errors I'm sorry. Just try to bear with it. _

_**Chapter 11 - Making Bail**_

On Tuesday, Jack woke up feeling unrested and irritated. That was like waking up on the _right_ side of the bed for him. Usually he was ready to destroy his room from frustration that he had actually not died in his sleep. So... It was turning out to be a good day. This was the day of his father's bail hearing.

Jack was looking forward to something he had always wanted to do but never dared unless his father was fast asleep - point and laugh.

Perez pulled up at ten sharp.

"How's it going?" He asked brightly, his accent thick and fresh like a new coat of glistening white paint.

Jack shrugged, stroking back his stubborn, messy curls.

"How's your mom?"

Jack considered, for a split-second, telling Perez about his mother's history. But he decided against it. "She's okay."

"When is she coming home?"

"I don't know."

"Did you think about what I said on Sunday?"

"You said a lot. Enough, actually."

"You have to start looking into it. God is the only one who can ever help you."

"If I need a minister I'll go to a church. Stop preaching."

"Preaching is part of my job," Perez laughed.

An exaggerated roll of Jack's eyes went unnoticed.

"Well, your soul is important, _Ese_."

"Don't call me _Ese_."

"Okay. Your soul is important, Jack."

"I don't have a soul," he muttered, not trying to be funny. But Perez laughed. "Everyone does."

Jack made no reply, but settled into the seat, leaning towards the window. He looked at his face in the side mirror as the car moved along. The window was rolled down a little, wriggling the locks of his hair like a bowl of worms. Jack tilted his face to check his chin. The bump was almost completely gone. But there was still a faint bruise. He looked closer at his face, hating the freckles that dotted his nose. Marisa had called them cute once. Like he was some rabbit. If he could carve them off his face he would. It was probably like fingerprints though. Always growing back like some disgusting starfish limb.

The rest of the drive was spent in relative silence, only because Jack would no longer respond to Perez's questions.

"Do you want your father to come home?"

_Shut up._

"Do you think your mom will divorce him?"

_Shut up!_

"How long have they been married?"

_Shut the hell up!_

"Do you think she'd be interested in a restraining order?'

_If you don't shut up I'm going to smash your head through the fucking windshield._

He finally stopped asking questions.

Jack was only too happy to get out of the car, but he dreaded the drive back home.

They entered the cool interior of the fancy City Hall building. They walked into the somber courtroom and sat in the left side, in the back.

Forty-five minutes later, after much boring legal talk and a few bangs of the gavel, the judge finally called up Jack's father to the stand from a closed off area in a front corner of the courtroom. His father was tall and lanky in the green prison clothes with _County Correctional Center _stamped in grayish-white on the back. His hair hung in limp noodles around his gaunt, tired face. Jack was pleased to see his worn-out state.

The stand was actually a plaintiff's table in front of the judge. Jack's father straightened up and shuffled on his feet, head angled towards the judge. Jack couldn't see his father's face, and his father still hadn't noticed Jack.

"Mr...Uh...Napier. You were charged with one account of battery... six years ago. You were released on probation for two years. And today you are being charged with one account of battery against your wife. You will be charged with other accounts of battery if your wife decides to do so. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Jack's father said flatly.

_Bastard_, Jack thought bitterly.

"Do you wish to have a lawyer?"

"Yes."

"You may hire one of your own or the court will assign you a public defender if you can't afford one."

Jack's father nodded. "I can't afford one."

"Very well, the court will assign one. Your bail is set at five-thousand dollars." The judge let the gavel drop lazily onto the wooden disk.

Jack must have been staring too intently, because just as his father turned heavily on his feet, he turned and looked directly at him.

Jack flashed a broad grin and gave him the finger. His father stopped in his tracks, looking like he was ready to come after Jack. But he seemed to realize where he was and that he was in handcuffs and continued to walk, not letting his eyes leave his son's smiling face.

Perez elbowed Jack hard in the ribs. Jack looked at him and he shook his head. "What the fuck's wrong with you, we're in a courtroom. Have some respect."

"That asshole hit us. He deserves to die in prison."

"I don't care. Come on, let's go."

Jack followed Perez out of the court and into the car.

When they were on the road, Perez said, "You can't behave like that in court. You'll be in court again several times for this case."

"I'll behave however I want."

"You have to have some respect."

Jack shook his head and leaned foward, glaring at Perez. "That fucking loser that I call my father, has hit us, and threatened us with beatings. Okay?" Jack's voice cracked from anger. "He's hit my mother as long as he's been with her. He's hit me since I was born. Did you see the judge when he was talking? He didn't even give a shit when he was talking. He didn't even _think_ about it when he set bail for five-thousand. It should have been fifty-thousand. What if my father gets out? You think he's going to be all happy to come home? No he's fucking pissed. And my mom's not here and he's going to take it out on me." Jack punched the dashboard with his right fist.

"Well, do you know of anyone who would be willing to bail him out?"

"Not a soul."

"Then why are you worried?"

Jack turned his head away and looked into distance as though he could see into the future. "He's capable of murder."

Perez didn't reply for a long time. Then he remarked, "I always knew when a guy was a killer or not. You're right about your dad."

"Yeah no shit."

Perez dropped Jack off at his driveway and left.

Jack took this day to spend at home, in bed.

Jack hadn't seen his mother on Monday. So when he woke up around eight-thirty that night - he must have been really tired - he called the recovery center and was connected to his mother's room. His mother picked up the phone and weakly said, "Hello?"

"Hi Mom."

"Hi Jack."

They said nothing else for a while, still thinking about the last time they had met and how the conversation had gone bitter.

Jack broke the silence. "I went to court today with the social worker."

"Honey don't press charges. I'm not."

Jack ignored her. "His bail is set at five-thousand."

"You mean he's still there?!"

"Of course he is. I don't have five-thousand."

"You have to go there and tell them to drop the charges. Oh! I wish I could come with you."

"It doesn't matter if you want to drop the charges. The cops saw everything. I told them everything."

"Why?" She moaned. "Why did you do that?"

"So that he would get arrested."

"He's going to be so mad! Jack, how could you do this?"

"He deserves it. Let him be there."

"No. You have to get him out somehow. Find a way. Go tell him you're sorry and tell him you'll find a way to get him out."

"NO!" Jack yelled into the receiver. "Let him fucking die!"

"Jack!"

"What?!"

"Why are you being so difficult?"

"_I'm _being difficult? You're telling me to get him out! Do you want him to beat the shit out of me?"

"No, of course not."

"Do you want him to beat you?"

"No. Stop. Can you find somewhere to stay for a few days?"

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't want you to live by yourself through all this."

"Mom, don't say it. I'll be fine."

"I'm scared for you."

"I'm not a baby. I'll be fine."

"You're not skipping school are you?" She asked suspiciously.

"No. I'm going to school."

"Good."

Jack rolled his eyes even though she couldn't see him.

"Jack, I want you to find some other place to stay. Why don't you stay with Tim?"

"No Mom."

"Why not? I really don't think you're safe there."

"I don't even know why you're so worried. I think you're just being paranoid."

She sighed on the other end. "I guess you're probably right. I'm still pretty shaken."

Jack thought back to Friday night. "Yeah, me too. Why did you start screaming like that?"

"I did what?"

"You started screaming--You don't remember?"

"No. I don't remember much of anything that happened that night."

"Well it's probably best anyway. Did they take the stitches out of your face yet?"

"No. I think that will be there for a while. The nurse gave me some medicine to reduce scarring."

"Okay."

"Please find somewhere else to stay okay? You're not safe there."

Jack decided to take her advice to put her at ease. "Okay. Tomorrow I'll call the social worker and ask for a place to stay, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you." She sounded relieved.

Jack didn't spend too many hours sleeping that night. He watched TV, made snacks and thought about ways to teach Marisa and Tim a lesson. He knew Halloween was in a couple of months. Even as early as last year the three of them had gone trick-or-treating, even though they were fifteen that year. The main reason they had gone was because Marisa had been told to take her younger sister. Jack and Tim had basically tagged along, and the three of them had gone to a local Funhouse afterwards only to find that the cheap props were sagging off the walls and three of the scary ghost and monster things popped up too late. One of them hit Tim in the nose.

Halloween would be a good time to play a little trick. Everyone was in costume.

The next day, at school, Jack was obviously avoided by Marisa and Tim, but they made no effort to conceal their absorbence in each other in front of Jack. Their callousness made Jack seeth inside, but he was calm and collected on the outside.

The day was, in general, an overflowing toilet.

Jack parked his car in the driveway and barely noticed a silver Buick on the street. He walked into the house and shut the door behind him. He didn't hear anything as he walked into his room and closed the door.

Then he heard it. Quiet talking. Jack's heart skipped a beat. Before he could grab a baseball bat from under his bed as a weapon, his door flung open, knocking him backwards. He fell against his bed, but just barely kept his balance.

Jack righted himself and saw his father standing there, looking more menacing than he had seen him in years. But that wasn't what made him nervous. It was something he had worn on only one occasion before, cracking Jack's jaw and three teeth when he was fourteen.

It was the set of brass knuckles settled snugly on his father's fist.


	12. Outcast

_A/N: Hello everyone. I'm sorry that it took so long to update, especially at such a crucial moment. What could have made Jack hate his father so...?_

_**Chapter 12 - Outcast**_

Jack knew a brutal attack was imminent. But he didn't want to move, because he also knew that any movement would commence that attack even more quickly. His father was wearing an open shirt and loose jeans with the belt undone. Jack noticed some smears of pinkish red on his father's shirt collar.

Both of them stood there for what seemed like hours.

Jack stood centered at the foot of his bed. He would have to duck around to the length of the bed to get the bat. However, he didn't think there was enough time for him to get back up to wield the bat. So he backed up around to the side of the bed without removing his eyes from his father.

He stopped at the edge of the bed. He would have to be quick to be able to get the bat. Jack dropped to his knees and reached blindly under the bed with his left hand, grasping wildly at empty space as he searched for the bat.

His father lurched into motion. It only took three long, powerful strides to reach Jack.

Just as his father pulled his gilded fist back Jack found the bat and gripping it with both hands, snatched it out swinging. He dealt a crumpling blow to his father's right leg, making him cry out in pain. Jack let him fall and leapt to his feet, vaulting over the body of his father and running out of his room.

Jack ran into the hallway only to collide viciously with a lady. She looked as equally stunned as Jack. Jack gathered his wits more quickly than she did, however, and shoved her aside and started towards the front door.

The chain was drawn and the bolt was locked. Jack dropped the bat and unlocked the bolt and undid the chain at the same time. He grasped the handle with his left hand, ready to open the door. But he heard hollow and heavy footsteps behind him. Jack turned a little and saw his father's fist coming at him with a vengeance.

Jack screamed and fell to the side, the metal-adorned fist cracking the wooden door.

As he scrambled to get up, Jack's father placed his hands on the door and dealt Jack a hefty kick squarely in the solar plexus.

A burst of air flew out of Jack in the form of a choked cry. He couldn't breathe. As he lay stunned on the floor, the lady cried out, "Stop!"

"Shut up!" Jack's father bellowed. Winding his fist back as far as he could, he bashed Jack in left shoulder with the brass knuckles. Jack tried to scream as he felt his shoulder crack. His voice died in his throat. His diaphragm spasmed as he struggled for air, refusing the work properly.

The lady came running over and pulled weakly at Jack's father, who was much stronger from an adrenaline rush purely out of rage. He shoved her off and she skidded to the floor. "He's just a kid! Stop it!" She cried.

Jack waited for more blows but none came. He risked a glance at his father, whose head was turned towards the woman on the floor. "Go get the rope," he ordered.

"You told me he was grown!"

Jack's father didn't move. But he issued a calm and guaranteed threat: "If you don't get that rope, bitch, you're next."

Jack saw her swallow nervously and drag herself up. She did as she was told. In less than a minute she walked out with a coil of rope about a quarter of an inch thick. She didn't come near Jack's father, looking like she wanted to run.

Jack moved a little, trying to sit up. Searing pain exploded again in his shoulder, shooting down his arm, into his chest and even into his head. He groaned, his vision blurring.

"Come here," Jack's father commanded icily. Jack sat up a little more, wincing at the pain. He would have to try to escape, regardless of the pain. He started sweating, feeling moisture in his underarms.

The lady came forth slowly, holding out the rope with an outstretched arm. "You told me he was an adult," she protested feebly.

"Who gives a shit," Jack's father muttered, turning back to Jack, who looked into his father's face, his pain turned into a hateful glare. He was not afraid anymore.

His father let the brass knuckles drop onto the aged, warped wooden floors. Jack gritted his teeth as his father pulled him bodily away from the door. A groan escaped his lips. He felt the broken bone pieces grazing against one another.

He turned Jack on his stomach and pulled his left arm behind him, not caring that he had just broken that shoulder. Jack screamed again. His voice faded into shallow gasps.

His father tugged his other arm behind him and bound them tighter than they needed to be. When he was finished, and Jack could already feel his hands growing numb, Jack's father took his right upper arm and helped him to his feet. He turned his son's reddened, grimacing face towards his own and said, just above a whisper, "You shouldn't have done that."

Jack knew what he was talking about. He should have told the cops everything was peachy and that his dad was the greatest.

"Bring that," his father pointed at the rope, talking to the woman. His father marched him into his room. The lady picked up the rope followed in distress.

Jack walked slowly, trying to forget that one or more bones in his shoulder were broken.

Jack's closet was a small space not even large enough to sit with his legs extended. There was all sorts of crap on the floor of the closet, and this, notwithstanding, Jack's father shoved him down onto a sneaker and couple of old textbooks. He tied his feet, and finding a sock - probably used - shoved it in Jack's mouth after forcing it open with a left-fisted punch.

"He's just a kid!" The lady cried desperately, and suddenly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He's nothing. He's just a little piece of shit." Jack's father took the rope and coiled it around Jack's head so he couldn't spit the sock out. Jack could taste the salty bitterness of the sock. It was definitely used and was in dire need of cleaning, and not with his saliva either. He swallowed, or tried anyway, only being able to move his throat. The sock was shoved too far back and he gave a muffled cough.

Jack's father kicked his son's legs and Jack pulled them in, or risked getting another beating.

The door was closed and Jack found himself surrounded by darkness. There was some random knocking against his door, and he couldn't figure out what that could be. He finally asked himself, _What the fuck?_

"Why can't you just leave him out of this?" She pleaded.

"Because if I don't then it will come back to bite me in the ass." There was a brief pause. "And you too."

"Couldn't we just pay him off?" The next words were incoherent. Jack wasn't sure what his father said in reply.

_What the fuck is going on?!_

Jack knew he was going to be killed. There was no doubt about it. His father wouldn't go to all this trouble and then let him go. And that woman. Who was she? Besides his father's mistress? He wondered if his mother knew about her.

At the thought of his mother, his gut lurched as he realized that they were probably going to do something to her. He had to get out. He had to get her out of that recovery center.

Jack stood up against the hanging shirts in his closet turned his back to the door, trying to turn the handle with his bound hands. When he had the knob turned, however, he could not get it open. He heard that same knocking again when he pushed the door. He knew that the door had been blockaded, probably with his own chair.

Jack threw himself back into the door. He groaned, but fought through it. He did it again. And again. The fourth time the door gave way and he fell back onto the floor. The chair was gone and his father stood there with the bat.

Jack stared up from where he lay, unable to move or do anything as his father swung the bat at his head. It made contact with a sound not different from the sound that same bat made when it hit baseballs. Jack gave a short, muffled cry and all turned black.

_God, if you save me from this I'll be good._

Jack traveled out of the haze in his mind as he woke up from his unconscious state.

He couldn't see anything when he opened his eyes. Hhe wasn't even sure if they _were_ open.

Jack felt his entire body hurting from his discomforting posture. When he raised his head away from the back wall of the closet, he gasped in renewed pain. He started to tremble and sweat from it. Feeling greatly weakened in the span of a few seconds, he took a moment to brace himself.

His mouth was totally dry, and the sock was a smelly, vile irritant.

Jack's head was pounding. He could feel that the right side of it was swollen from being pummelled with the bat.

Trying to stretch his legs, even though he knew the closet was only about three feet in length, he felt his back cramp up from being in that same position for so long.

He scooted over a few inches and pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sounds.

After about two minutes, he had still heard nothing. He had no idea at all how long he had been unconscious. He had no way of knowing what time it was.

Jack tried to get to his feet, but his legs were numb. He fell back down, the shock sending fresh pain into his shoulder.

He bit down on the dirty sock and forced himself to stand. His legs wobbled and he tumbled back down. He grunted in frustration.

_God, if you save me from this, I swear, I'll be good._

Jack resigned himself to sitting there for a while and put his ear to the door again. Miraculously, the door swung open and Jack fell off the pile of junk that sat at the bottom of his closet. His broken shoulder hit the floor and he issued a yell through the sock. He grimaced and felt his eyes water. "Fuck," he said through the sock.

"I'm sorry!" The lady cried, helping him sit up. She was behind him, and he leaned against her hands, his chest heaving.

Kneeling down, she let him rest against her knee as she undid the rope around his head to relieve him of the putrid sock.

He talked but no sound came out. "Why are you helping me?" He asked hoarsely after wetting his tongue.

She started to untie his wrists, her false blonde hair brushing his arms. "You have to get out of here. You can't come back," she said breathlessly.

"Where is my mother?"

"You can't come back, do you understand? I'm going to tell him that you escaped while I was sleeping."

"Where is my mother?" Jack demanded a little more forcefully.

"She's still at that place. She's fine."

Jack made no reply, but thought to himself that he would go get her out before his father could get to her.

"What were you going to do?"

"_I_ wasn't going to do anything," she said defensively. "It was all _his_ idea."

Jack hunched forward and tenderly brought his left arm forward, feeling the bones rubbing again. He watched as she untied his legs and extended her hand. "Come on. You have to leave. If he sees you he'll kill you."

Jack looked into her greenish, hazel eyes and took her hand. She helped him to his feet and guided him to the bed. He sagged down slowly into it, feeling exhaustion sweep over him. He wanted to sleep.

"Where did he go?" He asked vaguely.

"He went out to a bar a half-hour ago. It's not that late. You should leave before he gets back."

"Where am I going to go?"

"I don't know. Just away from here. He wants to kill you, don't you understand?"

She turned away from him and grabbed his backpack from the floor. She opened it and dumped his things out.

"Hey, what are you doing with my stuff?"

"You have to go! Before he comes back." She grabbed some shirts out of his closet and stuffed them shakily into his bag.

"Stop that," Jack said.

She made no reply. She went into his drawer and dragging the first one open she grabbed some socks and boxers out of it and stuffed those into the bag too.

Jack stood up and staggered towards her. "Stop it. I don't have anywhere to go."

She zipped the bag shut and dug under her blouse, under her bra. "Here. Take this. Find a hotel room or something. Just get _out_ of here."

Jack looked at the money in surprise. It was all hundred dollar bills, about fifteen of them. "Where did you get this?"

"Just go, all right?" She practically dragged him outside. At the front door she took a glimpse outside and turned off the porch light. She slung the backpack onto Jack's good shoulder and opening the door, gave him a little push. Jack looked at her determined face. "Get out of here. It's not safe for you here anymore."

Jack stared, even after she shut the door. He couldn't stop staring. Did he just become homeless?

He looked at the money in his hand. It was a little bit more than he thought. It was sixteen hundred dollars. He stuffed it in his pocket.

Turning away from his porch, he walked down the driveway. He stopped at the end of it and looked back at the house.

He couldn't believe it. Some stranger had just kicked him out of his own house. He turned fully towards the door, about to start going back. But she did have a point. He'd be dead if his dad returned and found him. She'd probably pay through the nose too.

Jack, with utmost reluctance, turned and walked away into the street, starting down the sidewalk and towards a nearby bus stop.

--

_A/N: I'm not sure if this chapter was so great. It's really late right now and I'm tired. So is Jack. Ever feel like the people you write about are becoming real before your eyes?_


	13. Shell Shocked

_A/N: I'm sorry everyone, that I took so long to update this story, but I had such a busy week and also, I had to figure out the right sort of injury for Jack. He couldn't have something so severe as a scapula fracture, because usually other life-threatening injuries go along with it, like a collapsed lung and other broken bones, etc. _

_**Chapter 14 - Shell-Shocked**_

After about one block of unsteady walking, Jack had to sit down on the sidewalk. His head was pulsing. It was like his brain was trying to jump out of his skull.

Lights were on inside houses but the streets were empty. It was a muggy, cloudy night.

Touching his right hand to the side of his head, he felt his hair clumped by stickiness. It hadn't even occured to him that he would be bleeding. He gingerly traced his hand down and felt blood on his ear and down his neck.

He thought of the night his mother's face had been slashed the memories came flooding back in the form of the taste of bile. He swallowed and shut his eyes. He could take a broken shoulder and a possible concussion at the same time but he couldn't handle blood? Jack looked at his fingers. There were congealed drops on his fingers that had come away from his scalp. It looked black and glossy in the dim street lights. He stared at it for several moments, until he got used to the sight of it. He turned his hand and looked at it from different angles, trying to catch enough light so it would look reddish at the very least.

He had just happened to pick a spot to drop down where the street light was not working. A block away was one that was brightly lit.

Grunting with effort, Jack stood up and walked slowly over to that spot, careful not to smear the blood onto anything.

When he reached that street lamp he stopped and leaned on it, breathing hard. But he wasn't thinking about his pain. He looked at his fingers again and this time, the blood was red and lumpy. Without a thought Jack stuck his index finger in his mouth and licked the blood clean, tasting it in his mouth. He savored it like a gourmet soup, and when the taste was gone he licked another finger. The second finger had more blood on it, and this time he had to spit it out. His face contorted in disgust.

He decided that was enough. He wiped the rest of the blood on his torn jeans and continued walking to the bus stop, which was on a main street. There were a few cars going by, but traffic was decidedly low.

Using his backpack as a pillow, he gently lowered himself down and went to sleep.

He didn't even know he had slept. When he woke up it was dawn.

Hazy blues, pinks and oranges graced the eastern sky. The smell of morning dew entered his nose.

Jack sat up stiffly, feeling his shoulder ache. He couldn't look at his shoulder - it hurt too much to turn his head. He slowly took his right hand and started to feel across his collarbone. As he drew closer to the shoulder, he felt swelling probably why pain had diminished quite a lot.

He couldn't figure out what do to. There were a number of things that he had to do, like go get his mother out of there, because she was a sitting duck. Go to the hospital, or he was risking life-long physical damage from this broken bone. Or just leave it all to hell and get out of town.

But Jack knew he was just going to go to the hospital first. He wasn't going to be able to do much with a broken shoulder. And by that he meant he wasn't going to be able to get his father back, and _not _via the fucking legal system.

Jack waited for a bus. He wondered why no one bothered to wake him up or call someone. He knew his head was covered in blood. And it wasn't like he had black hair. He had dirty blond hair and blood would definitely be noticeable. People just didn't give a shit about anyone but themselves.

After another short nap on the bus, Jack reached the hospital emergency room. He was rushed onto a wheeling bed right away and ushered into a private room for one person. After asking a few questions a nurse helped him change out of his clothes into a hospital gown and stuck a tag around his wrist.

When the doctor came in he agreed with the nurse on an X-ray of the shoulder. _How ingenious,_ Jack thought sarcastically.

After two hours he was finished with the X-ray and after yet another hour, the doctor figured out what was wrong, and explained to Jack that his acromion had a lateral fracture.

Jack didn't really give a shit what that meant as long as it could heal up nicely. The doctor assured him it would be just fine and he would have to wear a sling for a few weeks and then come in for therapy.

Jack asked when he was going to leave the hospital and the doctor said he wasn't going anywhere.

Turned out that he could have a concussion and needed to be under hospital care for a few days.

_Shit_, Jack thought.

That whole day was long enough for Jack to wish he could wring the nurse's neck. She was young and perky and Jack could tell she was attracted to him. She was looking for any excuse to chat with him or come in and check on him. She was probably in her early twenties, but apparently the fact that he was only sixteen meant nothing to her.

After he had finished picking boredly at his hospital dinner food, the nurse came in to take the tray away.

He noticed she had been reluctant to ask him what exactly had happened to him. Jack had told the doctor not to call the police to report a crime. He would probably be murdered right here in this hospital bed if his father found out where Jack was.

As boring as it was - actually he quite enjoyed the fact that he could sleep as much as he wanted and didn't have to lift a finger - Jack spent the next two days at the hospital.

As soon as he was given the okay to leave he tried to check out of the hospital. But a different nurse said flatly that he was a minor so he needed an adult to check him out. Jack used his charm and wits to terrify the woman into checking him out with her own signature.

Using public transportation once again, he found a shitty Day's Inn owned by some Indian loser that looked like a zombie. At first he refused to give Jack a room, since he was so young. Jack convinced him he was eighteen and that he had just gotten kicked out of his house and that he had no place to go. He must have looked pathetic with a sling and white bandages around his head, because the man said yes finally in an irritated way.

Jack paid for one week, because he wasn't sure how long he would have to stay.

He had been prescribed pain medication for his shoulder and also his headaches. He had apparently suffered a mild concussion and the doctor had told him not to play sports ("Yeah, right," Jack had snorted) or engage in any other physical activities. The doctor had told him to get plenty of sleep as well as a note for his absences at school.

During his first day at the hospital he had called his mother to tell her she was to leave the center under no circumstances, especially not if his father came along.

When asked if he was all right, Jack lied and said yes. He asked her about her face and she said the stitches would come out in a few days.

He had not talked to his mother since then. So when he was at the hotel room he called her again to check on her. She said she was well and that the doctors were sending her home in a day.

He told her to go somewhere other than the house, and did not explain that he was sure she would be killed. He even suggested she go to Gotham City, which she vehemently refused. Jack shook his head at her sudden stubbornness at such a critical time, but let it slide.

But he did manage to get her to agree to go to a friend's house to stay for a few days.

Halloween was coming up. Jack spent most of his time devising a way to get back at Marisa and Tim. He couldn't really think of anything appropriate. He knew the idea would come to him, he just wasn't sure _when_.

One week went by since he had talked to his mother. He expected she had already found a place to stay, but as scatterbrained as she was, she had not provided him with a phone number. He had no idea where she was and she hadn't called him. He was starting to get worried, especially since his father seemed hellbent on killing him, just to keep him quiet. So he could imagine that he wanted to kill Jack's mother even more.

The question was, though, _Why?_ What did his mother have that was worth killing for? She wasn't rich. The only reason Jack could come up with was that if his father couldn't have his mother, then no one could. And Jack's father didn't want her, obviously, with that other woman around. She looked younger and more attractive than Jack's mother.

Jack paid for another week and let it pass, with mounting anxiety. There was no word from his mother.

He called the one lady from his mother's work place, the one whose number he had taken for the hospital forms, and found out from her that his mother had not contacted her for almost a month. He thought about calling Perez, but decided he had had enough of his God-talk. He didn't need that right now. Right now he needed to know his mother was all right.

At dusk, Jack got dressed and left the hotel room.

Feeling ill-at-ease on the ride to his house, and completely distraught and almost panicked, he ran the distance from the bus stop to the house. Panting hard, clutching his shoulder, he stopped at the driveway and found it deserted. The Pontiac was gone and they had no garage. The house was empty at least.

As Jack neared the house he noticed a smell. He stopped in his tracks and sniffed some more. His heart started pounding in his chest as he thought the worst. He walked slowly nearer the house, hoping the smell was just a dead animal in the yard somewhere.

The door was unlocked.

Closing his eyes briefly, he steeled himself and opened the door, holding his breath.

When a cursory glance revealed nothing abnormal, he took a small breath, and instantly coughed. He gave a cry of disgust and put the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose. His eyes began to water. The lights were off, so the room was dim. Jack looked warily at the shadows in the room and turned the lights on. No gory dead bodies or blood. Nothing out of place or broken.

And yet the horrible smell reeked ten times worse than outside.

Jack's heart battered in his chest and he started trembling. The air was moist and warm. He felt like he was breathing in a disease through the material of his T-shirt.

Even Jack's worst thoughts couldn't have prepared him for the worst. He realized this with a stone in his stomach and a lump in his throat.

All the lights were off. He wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not. He couldn't see anything. But what if he trod on something dead and rotting?

He switched on the light to the hallway. What if it was that woman who had saved him? What if she had been killed for saving him? Was that really a valid exchange?

He opened the door to his parents' bedroom and staggered from the rotting stench. It hit him like a wave of water, almost making him pass out before even retching.

Without even going inside he heard flies. The AC was not on, making the buzzing even louder.

Jack coughed and gagged, unable to stop breathing the stench and dying for oxygen.

But he had to see who it was. He had to know if it was his mother or not. Jack switched the bedroom light on, and saw a body under the blanket, with the face turned away from him. But the sight was not so diminished in its shocking horror. The entire surface of the sheet was soaked with brown liquid that had oozed from the rotting corpse. Flies scattered like one of the ten plagues of Egypt revisited.

He knew right away it was his mother. There was no doubting the dry, dyed hair. It looked the same dead as it had been alive. A portion of one of her legs was uncovered by the blanket, revealing slimy, grayish skin that seemed to be squirming. Jack knew what it was without looking any longer. It was a layer of maggots.

Jack spun away and dashed out of the house, crashing into the wall of the hallway and then on the door frame leading outside. He lost his balance and almost fell outside on the porch.

He gulped in breaths of air, partially out of lack of clean oxygen, partially out of the initial throes of hyperventilating. He clutched his stomach, his body heaving from the effort of gasping in air.

He collapsed onto the porch step and bent over, fighting to gain control over his shaking body.

His mother was dead.

The fact didn't sink in. Even after he had witnessed the horror, and inhaled the stench, he still couldn't believe it.

Jack returned in a shell-shocked state back to the hotel room and dialed 9-1-1.

--

_Okay guys, I wish this chapter was longer, but I couldn't wait any longer to post it. I hope you enjoyed it, although I'll admit that I had some trouble writing it. It's just that I'm wondering whether I'm making it believable enough for you guys. Let me know if it is or isn't. It is something that's extremely important to me, almost at the same level of making the story enjoyable and fast-paced. If it's not believable I can't bring myself to write it with enthusiasm. _


	14. Preparation

_**Chapter 14 - Preparation**_

Police bombarbed Jack with questions, most of which he could not answer. The rest of the night was a blur, and it lasted all the way until about midnight, with all the forensic techs collecting their trace evidence and dogs sniffing for other clues the humans may have missed.

The first thing to leave the house was his mother's corpse. Jack remained in the police car while they wheeled her body in a black body bag into a quiet ambulance. They slammed the doors shut with mettalic clangs and drove away.

Jack wanted to go back inside but the cleaning crew denied him access.

So he just sat on the sidewalk, picturing the dead body in the darkness of the night. A car pulled up next to him, the headlights casting ghostly beams on Jack's body. He looked blankly at the car and watched the lights go out.

To see Perez come over with concern etched in his face did nothing for Jack.

"Are you okay?"

Jack did nothing. He just sat there.

Perez let him be and patted him on the good shoulder a couple of times. He stood up and went to one of the lingering cops.

Jack passed a glance towards the men standing around. There were only three people including Perez. The rest were inside his house. Jack still had the keys. He stood up and walked away without being noticed, not even trying to stay inconspicuous.

Jack heard voices calling his name after he was a short block away. It would have been too dark for them to find him.

Returning to the hotel room, Jack tried to sleep with the lights on, trying to avoid picturing his mother's dead body. He spent the night deprived of any sleep and woke up feeling sore all over and exhausted.

The pain medications didn't seem to be helping anymore, his head aching and his shoulder tugging.

School was out of the question. Jack wondered where his father was. Well, he knew he was with that woman, if she wasn't dead. There was no doubt in his mind that his father had killed his mother, although the cops did say that initial findings suggested an accidental death. There had been her bottle of Valium and a half-pint of whiskey, the bottle half-empty. She had not been attacked in anyway. Except of course by the flies. Jack cursed himself for waiting so long. He had been told she was dead between one and two weeks. Examination of the maggots would reveal almost exactly how long, because of their short life-cycle. What if he could have saved her?

But Jack knew it was no accident. His mother never drank.

It would be weeks before any results came back from testing. Jack called the one final person he knew to call. His last resort, Mark Schnider.

Mark usually refused to meet at any time during the day. Probably because he had about twenty warrants out for his arrest going back to when he was about sixteen. Mark was twenty-five and a trouble-maker to the last degree. Both his parents were drug-addicts and had all their things repossessed or pawned for money for drugs. Mark was left to find his own way in the world, that is, the streets. There was a reason he was the way he was. Mark wasn't particularly intelligent, but he was strong and had connections.

So when Jack asked Mark for a shotgun, fully loaded with extra shells, Mark delivered in a week, charging Jack a friendly two hundred dollars, the price of the weapon and service fee together.

Jack wasn't really experienced in using guns, so he figured a shotgun was the best way to go. It was powerful and perfect aim was not required. The only problem was a heavy recoil, which Mark warned him about. Jack shrugged it off and just said he'd use his good shoulder. He was right handed anyway.

Jack's money was almost halfway finished. It was with reluctance that he asked Mark for a place to stay. Even though Mark was his final route, he didn't actually trust him at all.

Mark offered him a place right away. Apparently one of his druggie roommates had died of an overdose.

Jack agreed, as long as no one tried to steal from him. Mark assured him that he would take Jack under his wing and anyone who tried to do anything to Jack would answer personally to Mark.

Jack packed up his things and checked out of his hotel room that same day.

The apartment smelled of marijuana barely concealed by the smell of incense. Any SWAT team raiding the place would find out instantly that there were illicit activities going on, including other Class A narcotics and prostitution. Jack knew this place had to be only temporary. He couldn't live here for too long, otherwise he'd wind up in prison with the rest of these losers.

After two days of living in the smelly apartment, Jack set out to find out where his father was. He called his workplace and found out that he still went to work, although he had mentioned he was going to quit soon. Jack found this surprising, because his father had no large hidden funds to speak of. He needed every last bit of money, even if the other lady was bringing home a paycheck. He still didn't know her name. His father's boss offered his condolences for Jack's mother's death. Jack said nothing because the words meant nothing. He just hung up.

So knowing his father's exact schedule, Jack waited outside in the parking lot around the time that his father would get out of work. It was around eight at night, the sun almost completely gone, leaving no traces of sunlight in the sky. Wandering around the parking lot systematically, avoiding the lone security car, Jack found his father's dusty Pontiac parked in the shadows under a tree at the edge of the parking lot. "Bingo," Jack muttered to himself, then chuckled because he sounded so corny. He had a set of keys to the car, and let himself in, locking the door and settling down on the floor of the car in the back. It was pitch black here, and he was sure his father would not notice him at all. For good measure, Jack pulled off the black sheet that was used to cover the torn and damaged back seat to throw over himself. The car smelled of burnt tires and old dirt.

His shoulder offered him some stiffness, but other than that Jack thought it was healing up fairly rapidly. He was still wearing the sling, even though he sometimes tried to take it off to exercise his shoulder. He didn't think he was going to show up for physical therapy at the hospital like the doctor had recommended.

In a few minutes, Jack's father entered the car, completely oblivious to Jack's presence and drove poorly, almost giving Jack another concussion or two to go along with the first one.

After what seemed like fifteen minutes, the car slowed down and went slowly over a couple of bumps, then it was shut down. There was tapping as the car engine began to cool down instantly, and his father got out and slammed the door shut, making Jack's ears ring with the loudness.

Jack heard fading footsteps and then silence. He waited a few minutes, then cautiously raised his head to look outo the window. He saw a driveway not unlike his own, but definitely more upperclass, and much cleaner. He raised his head even more and ahead, about ten feet in front of the car, was an unlit porch. The numbers 346 were mounted in brass on the door. Jack eased open the door and let the latch click and pressed the door hard for it to close all the way.

He walked down the street and found out the street name. Now he knew where his father was staying.

Traveling a few more block revealed he was still in the same city where he lived. He caught a bus and made his way back to his new home.

Jack paid a visit to the hospital just to get his shoulder checked out. It was with pleasure that he heard he no longer needed the sling. The doctor asked him to raise his arm and do a few exercises to see how much movement had managed to come back to the shoulder. The doctor told him he didn't actually need therapy at the hospital, and could practice at home to bring full feeling back to his shoulder, and that should alleviate the persisting stiffness totally.

So since his shoulder was almost officially healed, Jack decided to go back to school. He mentioned nothing of his injuries or his mother's death. Neither Marisa nor Tim had even attempted to call him - this much was revealed in their guilty glances when they saw that Jack actually hadn't dropped off the face of the planet.

Jack didn't feel hurt though. He knew from the beginning they were no friends of his.

Since Jack had received the blow to his head, he had not been able to get a haircut for over a month because of the obstructing bandages. His hair had grown rapidly to level with his earlobes and tickled the top of his nape. He didn't really have the money to waste anyway. The longer hair made him look taller and meaner, adding a touch of masculine mystery, drawing women's gazes where ever he went. At the store, while waiting at the bus stop, even at that new store he had found. Even the old ladies were looking at his ass. The store was like an antique/second-hand/junk store. It was called Maddie's Things. It was also a cafe. Jack had been waiting for a bus when he decided he wanted some coffee. He had popped in there to get a cup where there was an old lady counting pennies to pay for some of her things. He saw the bus zoom by as he waited impatiently. He gave a cry of disgust and flashed an angry glare at the old woman, who looked back blankly.

Now he had to wait ten minute in this moldy store for another bus. He trudged deeper into the store looking around with no particular interest, until his eyes caught a long, dark trenchcoat buried vertically on coat-rack with other, shorter, coats. He went closer and pulled the coat out, discovering that it was a dark, rich, if not dusty purple. Apparently this had been hanging here for enough years to collect a layer of dust on top of the velvety material. He dusted it off at the shoulder, revealing the purple to actually be a lot brighter than he thought. He found it to be almost repulsive, almost like the color of a pansy. He opened it up and checked for a tag. But all he found were some torn stitches where the tag would have been. He looked at the red lining. It was faded from age to a dying-rose color. He checked for a price sticker and found none.

He took it over to the counter - the penny lady was gone - and asked the old lady at the cash register how much the coat was. She looked at it, as though wondering where it had come from. "Do you have any idea how old this thing is?" She asked finally, a small smile growing on her face.

Jack looked at the coat and guessed, "Like fifty years old?"

The lady laughed. She was clearly a smoker, or if not, had been had one time. Her laugh faded into a hacking cough. "Oh goodness," she huffed. "It is about that old, yes. Time just flies."

"Yeah, sure. Listen, how much is that thing?"

"It looks a little big for you," she gave Jack an overseeing glance.

"I'll grow into it. How much?"

The lady sighed. "They don't make clothes like these anymore. I'll say, thirty dollars. How's that?"

"It's fine with me," Jack nodded and paid up. The lady gently folded the heavy coat and eased it into a reused plastic bag.

Jack almost forgot about his coffee. He had placed it on the floor in the back to use both hands to look the coat. He went back to retrieve it. He paid for that as well and walked outside with the bagged coat.

Halloween was in three weeks.


	15. Finishing Touches

_A/N: Well, I hate to say I'm sorry again, but, I'm sorry again. Really busy week with no time to spare for writing about Jack. Hope you enjoy this chapter. _

_**Chapter 15 - Finishing Touches**_

Jack spent the next two weeks falling even further behind in his classes. Teachers called him after class and offered him after school lessons. Guidance counselors tried to get Jack to open up about his problems. Calls were placed to his house - where he no longer lived and the phone, gas and electric were already cut off - to no avail.

There was one class he didn't miss. Chemistry.

He used the opportunity to steal solid chemicals like magnenium and copper ribbons, and catalytic enzymes actually stored for the biology classes. He wasn't sure if any of it would come in handy, but a lot of items in his chemistry class were not part of his chemistry set at home. He made a mental note to retrieve those too.

Jack spent more time scouring through the items in Maddie's Things. He found a treasure trove of vintage items mixed with newer things, both for men and women. There was a singular dressing room in the very back of the store, since the majority of the store's items were clothing and accessories. Jack found this the second time he paid a visit. He had taken along the trench coat.

Pulling the thin curtain closed for privacy, Jack tugged on the coat and looked at himself. The old lady at the counter had been right, it was a little big for him. The padded shoulders stretched about an inch further than his own, and the coat, though apparently supposed to be only a three-quarter size, was more than halfway past his calf. Even so, the coat gave him a creepy ringleader look, skewed in a cartoonish way because of the purple.

Liking the look, Jack left the coat inside the changing room and exited, looking around for colorful pieces of clothing to go with the coat. After about ten minutes of searching, Jack had found three green and blue shirts with obnoxious patterns like polka dots and fat stripes, some odd socks, one orange with blue dots and one grass-green and yellow squares, and one wicked pair of purple leather gloves that fit him as perfectly as they would have if they had been tailor-made. They clung a little past his wrists and he knew these were very important. He couldn't leave fingerprints.

Jack returned to the room and tried on the shirt he liked best, the pale and dark blue shirt with alternating fat and thin stripes. He thought that was the best one out of the lot, but when he tried on the green one with blue polka dots he realized that green really accentuated the purple. He took the green polka-dotted shirt, socks and gloves and went to the check out counter. It was a different lady this time, and she studied his garments. "What are you going to be a clown or something?"

Jack considered. "Something like that."

The third time he returned to Maddie's Things, ten days after the first time, it was the first lady again who sat perched on a stool behind the counter, papers spread in front of her. When she saw him she smiled in recognition. "Oh, it's you again."

Jack was surprised to find that she remembered him, and he nodded. "Yeah. You remember me?"

She smiled again. "Now who could forget that handsome face?"

Jack felt a little saddened by the remark, surprising himself. "Well, you're right about that!" He exclaimed.

The lady laughed and went back to doing some paperwork. As Jack started to walk deeper into the store, a lady came storming in. "Hey there Madeleine," she said in a huff, her accent thick and Southern. "I gotta go. Here, these are all my husband's. Oh he sure is a nut. I gotta go! I'll see ya later, all right?"

"Oh, all right," the old lady at the counter waved her hand as the other one dumped the clothing on the counter all over her papers.

"I'm sorry!" She waved and ran out.

Jack spotted a weird shirt tangled in with some other normal ones. He walked over to the pile and tugged the weird one out to look at. It was creased excessively, like it had been washed and dried and then left in a pile instead of being ironed and hung up. The shirt was a light watery blue with the most unusual hexagonal pattern. Each hexagon had different designs; some were striped, some were dotted, some had wiggly lines. This was the shirt. "Do you mind if I return a couple of other ones I bought here?"

"We have a strict policy, sweetie," the lady said apologetically and pointed at the sign that was displayed clearly at the counter.

"Oh."

Jack shrugged. "Whatever. I want this shirt. How much?"

"Just take it hun, go ahead."

"What?"

"Just take it. It's all right. When you're finished with your costume, remember to come in and show me. I think you'll look dashing. What are you supposed to be?"

Jack considered. "Some sort of freaky clown."

The lady laughed and picked up the wadded clothing off her counter and took them into the back. "I'll see you later, all right?'

Jack was about to say okay when he realized that he had already made a mistake. He was going to commit crimes with this costume. He couldn't be recognized. Jack never returned to Maddie's Things.

_Ten more days until Halloween_, Jack thought. Jack visited three more second-hand clothing stores and finally found the green to go with his purple. It was actually a women's blazer, made of a corduroy-like material. The weather was starting to cool down, and he needed a thin jacket during the nights. This costume would keep him warm. When he reached his shared apartment, Jack immediately chopped the arms off the blazer and tried it on with his hexagon checkered shirt and trenchcoat. The look was magic.

Finally, he needed a mask. There were several stores that sported masks and cheap costumes for the upcoming Halloween night. Most of the costumes were for children, poorly made. Even though some of the masks were made of rubber, they were corny. Jack was hardput to find a good one. And he only had a bit more than a week left. The final thing left was to use make-up. There was the usual vampire make-up, Frankenstein color-coded make-up, and skeleton make-up. All those were corny and overdone.

Giving up at the stupid store, Jack was on his way out when he noticed a clown-nose. It was blood-red and shiny. He made a spur-of-the-moment purchase, along with a multicolored facial paint set that sat displayed on the counter. The paint set had all the colors of the rainbow, including ample amounts of black and white, and application sponges.

Satisfied with his purchase, at least for now, Jack walked out and went back to his pathetic home. He had bought a one-by-two-feet mirror that he stored faced against the wall near his bed, which was a lumpy mattress on the floor. He had purged the area of the previous person's things, even going to far as to cover the matress with enough blankets and sheets so he wouldn't have to go anywhere near the surface of the previous owner. He had used some of his precious money to buy cleaning products and scrubbed down the walls and the nightstand dresser. The other tenants had _What-the-fuck?_ expressions on their faces as they watched him. But Jack didn't care. It was money well spent. For all he knew the other guy had Hepatitis or maybe just had sex a lot.

Leaving the costume items alone for the time-being, Jack lifted up the base of his mattress and retrieved the shotgun. It was not loaded, and his shells were placed in the dresser. He had enough to reload two times, that meant he had twenty-four shells. But if a shotgun was as powerful as Mark had warned him it was, then he would never have to reload.

Jack spent time studying the shotgun, pumping the gun to get a feel for it. It just clicked empty every time. The shells were large and heavy, the metal beads within rattling when he shook it. The beads would dispell when the weapon was fired and spray everywhere, therefore giving a wide range of fire, not requiring perfect aim.

Jack put the shotgun away and pulled the sheet up to his waist, and tried to get some rest.

--

_A/N: I'm not sure if a shotgun shell really rattles, I just put it in at the last minute. Didn't really do the research._


	16. Revenge is Sweet

_**Chapter 16 - Revenge is Sweet**_

Halloween Day started with cloudy skies and the smell of rain. By noon rain had started in large heavy drops battering the earth. The rain had no intention of stopping.

Jack was still determined to carry out his plans. So around seven at night, when the usual sunlight was lacking and a cozy gray blanketed the city over a layer of falling rain, Jack sat in his room and pulled out the mirror.

A few days ago, Jack had figured out an enjoyable way to pay back Tim and Marisa. It ran along the lines of a Halloween 'trick' instead of a 'treat'.

The mirror leaned propped against the drawers of the nightstand, and Jack's back was turned to the bedroom's doorway. The lumpy mattress sat to his left, holding the paint supplies. Jack was not wearing his costume right now. It sat in a neat pile beside the paint.

He wasn't really sure exactly what he was going to do to his face, but he had looked up scary clown makeup in the library. The most basic parts were a white face, blackened or blued eyes, and a crooked gash in place of a bright red smile. Jack went ahead and dipped his fingers in the moist, but solid white paint and rubbed it in his forehead. The color was not so shocking on his already-pale skin, but he continued without stopping. Soon the upper part of his face was done, and he stroked paint on his chin. He had unwittingly left the areas around his eyes, nostrils and under his lower lip unpainted. So he took some more white and applied the paint there. His eyelashes were coated with the white, as were his eyebrows.

He looked around for a place to wipe the paint, and since both his hands were covered profusely, he just wiped the stuff in his hair. Jack hadn't really been able to find anything for his hair, not even a dignified wig. All he could find were those colored afros or the rainbow ones. Or those wigs that made you bald with a patch of thin rubber that didn't possess, by any stretch, a generic skin-color. No matter what color you picked, it never matched your real skin.

Jack leaned away from the mirror and pickep up an applicator sponge, and when he dabbed it in black to smudge around his eyes, he realized the sponge was much too big. He took another one and dipped the corner in the black, and leaned back to face the mirror. Jack inched forward and put his face mere inches from the mirror, and started to drag the black in vertical lines up and down from the center of each eye to give himself a sad-clown face.

Just when he was starting to draw the final line on his right eye, there was a slam that caused him to jump. Someone was yelling about something, a normal occurence in this apartment. Jack wasn't too bothered by it, except for the fact that his make up was messed up. The black paint was a jagged line pointing away from the center of his face. "Ah, fuck," Jack muttered. He used his finger to wipe it away, but did the exact opposite and smudged it in a thick ugly line towards the bridge of his nose.

"Shit!" Jack took the end of the applicator sponge and wiped off the black, but there was a dark gray mess blotching his face. He shot a venomous glance in the direction of the door and tried to wipe off more. But he only enlarged the gray area. He tried covering it up with white, but it just looked like when his mother had tried to cover up a bruise with make up. It just didn't work.

The only way he could fix it was to wash off that whole area and start over. He glanced at the lone digital alarm clock in the room. The time was seven-thirty. He couldn't spend too much more time here. He had to go stake out Tim's house. He couldn't wait to see the look on his face. Smiling to himself with anticipated satisfaction, Jack picked up some more black. He would just have to work with the setback.

Jack smeared black all around his right eye in approximately an inch-thick line. It looked like a really fake black eye. He did the same with the other eye. Using his fingers, he applied the paint on the sensitive skin of his upper and lower eyelids. It mixed with the white and turned slate gray.

Starting to rush now, Jack cast aside the applicators in favor of his fingertips, and strung out a huge monstrous grin with the red paint. Instead of the sad-clown look he was going for, which was what he'd seen in most of the illustrations at the library, he ended up achieving a demented-psychotic-clown face. This look was much more suitable for what he had planned. He was glad he messed up.

His hair was messily tied back. Streaks of white still lined his hair, giving him an aged look if he squinted. Besides the fact that his hair was longer now than it had been before, there was nothing else to disguise it. He sort of wished he had one of those fake afros. Then he thought about how idiotic he would look with that, along with the classy trenchcoat and the slick gloves. He shook his head decisively, no.

Leaving his hair in a clumpy ponytail, Jack rubbed at the white streaks, but wasn't able to get it all out, and rubbed in black and red in the process, achieving a brown color. Jack just let it be, and got dressed. He placed the mirror on top of the nightstand so he could see his upper body as he dressed.

He wore his ordinary torn jeans, but folded the bottoms a couple of times so his wild socks could show. He wore a pair of aged, yellowed sneakers, the only shoes he had brought with him. Tugging on the shirt, he gently tucked it into his jeans and zipped up. He looked sort of dorky, like he was trying to dress up for a first date. He refused to be discouraged and pulled on the green vest. Buttoning it up, he was seeing that any dorkiness was only intensified. He stopped looking at himself in the mirror as he got dressed, and gently slipped into the purple coat, and pulled on the gloves. He bent down and retrieved the shotgun from under the bed.

Jack fixed his collar and shook his shoulders to get the clothing seated comfortably on his body.

He had not told anyone he was leaving the apartment tonight. He was just going to pick up and leave. That's what everyone else did around here. Sometimes they didn't show up for days; sometimes they never came back. Everyone was welcome and no one was missed.

Jack had bought an old duffel bag which he adopted in place of his backpack. Even though it took up space, Jack kept the backpack and put it inside the duffel bag with his few pieces of clothing and other small belongings. He took the shells and put them on the top, alongside a black metal box, The Bomb.

Checking around one last time to see that he had no left anything behind, Jack picked up the duffel bag and walked out without so much as a glance back.

Jack knew where he was going to keep Tim. It was a storage area, with ample temperature regulated storage rooms and a large parking lot for RVs. He had rented a tiny room, using up the last bit of his money. The room was a perfect cube, five feet on all sides.

He knew this place was extremely well monitored, but Jack wasn't too concerned about that. The reason he had chosen this spot was because Jack had discovered a gap in the metal fence encircling the area. He had found it on one of his many exploring sessions since he didn't bother going to school anymore. The gap was due to the fact that there was a small body of water behind the RV lot, that they had not bothered to fence out. However, due to recent weather conditions, the water had dried up around the edges, allowing a thin, muddy bank to form for people to walk on. It was poor management as far as Jack was concerned, but he didn't care. This was very important to his plan. There were no cameras guarding this part, only the main entrance, which required a four-digit code to open the gate. Jack had seen two cameras angled to view the entrance, one on the driver's side, and one on the passenger side.

So to calm his nerves, Jack walked all the way to Tim's house. He attracted curious gazes and compliments and watchful stares as he went. The rain had stopped for now. It was inside a gated housing community for rich people. Jack already knew the code, having been Tim's friend. Punching it in, Jack walked through the gates and started towards Tim's house.

The streets were slick with rain water. The rain still had not revisited the grounds and children were tumbling out of houses in the hopes of collecting some precious candy. Jack went mainly unnoticed in the darkness, except for a few of heads that he turned as he walked past people on the sidewalk.

Jack's paint was almost fully dry by now, but for some reason there were still parts that were wet, like around his eyes and the red lips. Apparently the white dried the quickest.

The time was probably around eight or nine now, Jack wasn't really sure. He just knew the duffel bag was starting to get heavy and was digging into his shoulder. He switched it to his left hand, and then his right, back and forth to avoid the handles hurting his palms. All that metal inside the bag was actually a lot heavier after carrying it for so long.

As he was approaching Tim's house, the rain started again. He cursed loudly at the sky, causing people to frown and children to turn at the obscenity. Jack covered his eyes with his hand, hoping his wet make-up wouldn't start running. Just when he was about twenty feet away, the rain grew louder and fell heavier. Jack made a run for it and jumped up the two steps onto the porch. The house was not lit, and porch light was off. Fake tombstones and withering ghosts and monsters dotted the yard. Pumpkins sat piled on some hay on both sides of the door. Jack glanced inside through a window and saw no one.

He turned the door handle, and discovered that it was locked. It didn't matter. He knew where they kept a spare key. He also knew the security code for the alarm, since Tim was so naive about these things. This was probably the last time he would make _that_ mistake.

Jack rounded to the back of the house and retrieved the key from the backdoor's right lamp that sat perched next to the door. The key was actually for the back door, so Jack let himself in easily and placing the key back, locked the door from the inside.

He checked the alarm system control by the back door, and discovered that the alarm was not even armed. He listened for talking or the sound of TV, but heard nothing. The house consisted of only one floor, with an uninhabitable attic on top, mainly used for storage. Jack slowly stepped deeper inside, searching and listening for any signs of life.

As he neared the living room, he heard bubbling water. It was a large illluminated fishtank that stood to level at his own height. Jack turned away and headed towards Tim's bedroom.

On his way, he passed Tim's parents' room, and his brother's. No one there. The doors were ajar and the rooms were clean and empty. Jack suspected Tim was not there either, and after a moment his guess was confirmed. The room was hideously untidy, but smelled clean. Jack figured Tim was probably with Marisa, at some party or even trick-or-treating again with her sister like last year. Whatever the case, Jack started to rifle through Tim's belongings, searching for cash and things he could sell. In a few minutes he had located three piles of loose bills, a wad of cash in the back pocket of a pair of jeans, and a bag of weed. Jack pocketed the cash and left the weed after a thought. If he was stopped on the street for any suspicions, he had to look clean.

Tim's room was a spacious, partially circular room. The circular part was sort of a semi-circle stage, overlooking the large back lawn. On the stage, sat a lush full bed, unmade and covered with object and a pair of shoes. Jack let it be and went towards the walk-in closet. He would have to hide out until Tim returned.

The closet was virtually empty, since most of Tim's clothes were already spewed out all over the room. The closet smelled damp and musty, like it had been rained in and not cleaned properly. Jack left the door exactly as it had been, wide open. The closet was large enough that he would not be seen, and there were two large boxes - one for a TV and another for stereo system - stacked in the back. Jack inched the boxes forward and crawled into the space behind it. He dropped the duffel bag with a clinking noise and stretched his legs slightly to get comfortable. As he did so, Jack brushed something aside. He felt around with his gloved hand and grasped a short, metal object. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and feeling it through the leather glove, he realized it was a switchblade. Actually, it was his. Actually it was _his _father's that _he _had stolen. And Tim had either borrowed or stolen it from Jack. He couldn't really remember right now. How fitting that he should find it just before he was going to leave this miserable place.

Jack waited for what seemed like hours. He was starting to doze off when he heard several loud footsteps and laughing. Jack left his duffel bag where it lay, not opting to use the shotgun as he had originally planned. He flipped open the blade and held it ready.

After several minutes, Tim finally entered his room. He didn't turn any lights on. Jack just heard some rustling as Tim undressed and a feathery thump as Tim collapsed onto his mattress. Jack heard the curtains being drawn over the windows by the raised floor under the bed.

Jack waited some more. Within the next fifteen minutes, Tim tossed on the bed a few times, and started snoring softly. Jack heard nothing reverberate through the walls, not the sound of a loud television, nor the heavy step of someone running. The whole house was asleep.

Jack slinked out like a cat, bulky as his outfit was. He slowly eased himself up off the floor, and still hunched low, he approached Tim's bed. His snoring grew louder and more obnoxious as Jack neared, knife ready. Tim was on his side, facing away from the windows, towards Jack. Jack was finally within touching distance of Tim, and holding the knife right at Tim's neck, Jack slapped his left hand on Tim's mouth.

At first, Tim's eyes were sleepy. But within a split second they were wide with fear. He tried to get up, but Jack discouraged him coldly, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." He nicked Tim on his throat. Tim squirmed and issued a muffled cry. He still held Jack's left arm, trying to remove it. But he stopped trying when he recognized his attacker. He let go and his eyes filled with anger. He started to get up again, more boldly this time. Jack allowed the knife to cut him even deeper. Tim flinched violently as the fear pooled back into his eyes. "I guess you didn't hear me the first time." Tim's hands went to his neck. He drew his hands away and discovered his hands were coated with a small amount of blood. Tim swallowed, looking like he was trying to see if his trachaea was severed.

Jack grinned. "Let's go for a drive."

--

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! Please leave a review!


	17. Set to Blow

_**Chapter 17 - Set to Blow**_

"If you scream, I'll slit your throat. If you try to run, I'll slit your throat. If you do anything besides following my orders, I'll slit your fucking throat. Did you hear me that time?"

"Yeah," Tim whispered.

"Now get up," Jack ordered nastily. Never removing the knife from Tim's neck, Jack gripped Tim's hair and pulled him out of bed. Jack turned Tim's back towards him and took hold of his left wrist, and twisted up into his back. Tim gasped as the knife grazed his throat again. "I'm bleeding, you fucker," Tim muttered.

"Good."

Jack glanced around, and spotted what looked like car keys on Tim's dresser. "Get your keys."

Tim obeyed without question, and walked slowly towards the dresser. Jack still held him hostage.

When they approached the dresser, which had a mounted mirror, Jack saw that they were two poorly lighted silhouettes. Jack came closer and his white features became clearer. When Tim picked up the keys, Jack stayed him for a moment.

Jack leaned closer to the mirror, examining his face. He looked a lot scarier than he recalled. Then he realized the rain had streaked some of the black and the red. There were black lines running down his cheeks like melting ice cream. The red looked like dripping blood. Using his left hand, Jack wiped at the red to remove the excess. He wiped at his cheeks and gave a overly dramatic, morose sigh. "My make up is ruined."

"You freak."

Jack smacked Tim on the side of his. "Let's go." Jack took Tim awkwardly to the closet and forced him to pick up the duffel bag. "What the hell is this?" Tim demanded.

"Mind your own business."

"I'm not wearing shoes."

"Do I _look _like I care?"

Within a few minutes, Tim and Jack were settled in Tim's expensive Mustang. Jack had the knife trained at Tim's side, ready to deflate a lung with one stab. Tim sat rigidly as he pressed a button on the visor to open the garage. "My parents might hear that."

"I'll take my chances. Start the car. Remember, no tricks."

The duffel bag was jammed under Jack's feet. He had forced Tim to drop it there while he held a knife to his spine. Then they had climbed into the car through the passenger seat, Tim first.

Tim reversed out of the garage slowly. He was calmer than Jack expected, probably because he knew his assailant. Jack was sure he wouldn't have been so calm otherwise. Maybe he was too angry to be scared.

In a few minutes, Jack had given Tim strict, clear directions on how to get behind the lake of the storage area. He made Tim park the car, and leave the keys in the ignition. Then he dragged him out through the passenger side, pulling his hair roughly. Tim winced and stumbled out. "Get my bag."

Tim grudgingly complied and picked up with his right hand. Jack twisted Tim's left arm back and up again, and started marching, holding the knife at Tim's nape as a reminder not to try anything. Because of the rain, the newly created bank around the lake was moistened again. Jack's shoes - and Tim's bare feet - sank an inch into the mud.

Jack knew where the cameras were. He only had to get past two without being seen at the peripheral, or even, if he was lucky, not at all on the recorded camera footage. "What are you going to do?" Tim finally asked him.

"You'll see."

"This bag is heavy. What's in it?"

"You'll see that too. You might not like it though."

Tim didn't respond, letting the ominous sentence hang in the humid air.

When they entered the ringing quiet of the storage section B, Jack told Tim to switch on a light right next to the door. The whole hallway was flooded with surgical white light, making them squint. They walked with squishing noises to Jack's storage compartment. Jack ordered Tim to kneel down and get the key out of a side pocket of the duffel bag. Tim obeyed and unlocked the compartment, sliding the metal door up like a garage door. "You're going to leave me in here?" His voice echoed after he was finished talking, as he gave Jack in incredulous look. The storage room was darkened and had no overhead light, and only the hallway lights spilled in.

Jack grinned and nodded. "Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

"You can't do this to me. We used to be friends."

"Not really."

Tim shifted uneasily on his knees. "I'm sorry about Marisa."

Jack rolled his eyes. "There it is."

"It was really not planned out or anything. It just happened. Jack listen, let's just talk about this."

"You're not going to be here long," Jack shrugged.

Tim looked at him skeptically. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see. Open the other side pocket. Get out the tape."

Tim pulled out a fresh roll of duct tape and looked at it.

"Tape your ankles together."

Tim looked at Jack, defiance flickering in his eyes. Jack felt a surge of annoyance. Tim challenged, "Make me."

Jack heaved a sigh and shook his head. "I was really hoping you wouldn't go there."

"Yeah, well, you better fucking deal with it."

"You know I have knife to your neck, right?'

"Yeah."

"It's sharp, did you forget?"

"No damn it!"

"You'd better do as I say."

"Fuck you."

Jack turned the knife and butted the end of the handle hard into Tim's head. He cried out, his hand going right for the injured spot. Jack pushed Tim off-balance and then kicked him in his head. Tim groaned.

"_Make _you? _Make _you? I'll _make _you, you just watch." Jack yanked Tim's legs together and snatching up the duct tape, he ripped it open and started to wrap it around Tim's muddy ankles.

Tim fought weakly, but was stunned from the kick to his head. Jack turned him over and taped his wrists together too. When he was finished, he exhaled sharply out of relief. The hardest part was finished. Jack dragged Tim by taking him under the arms and pulling him into the five-feet tall storage room. He let Tim slide against the back of the room, and dragged his duffel bag inside.

As he was starting to regain his senses, Tim looked at the bag again, frowning at the pain. "What are you doing?"

The light from the hallway bounced off the slick concrete floors, elongating the shadows on Jack's face as he eyed Tim seriously. "I'm going to blow you up."

"What?" He asked groggily.

Jack searched around for the knife and saw that it was lying outside the room. He shook his head and jabbed Tim in his chest. "I'm going, to blow, you, up."

"You don't know how to make a bomb," Tim denied, not really believing his words.

Jack gave Tim a sidelong, mysterious glance. "Don't I?"

Tim swallowed. "No?"

Jack grinned, enjoying making Tim squirm. "Guess again."

Jack let Tim lay where he was and zipped open the duffel bag. He pulled out the upper most items, the box of shells and the shotgun, then the metal box. He let it clunk down on the concrete floor. The echoes were almost non existent in the small space.

"What the hell is all that?"

"Well," Jack started like he was going to teach him how to bake apple pie. "This is a shotgun. These are shells. And this, this baby is _The Bomb_." Jack smiled and patted the box.

"You can't do this."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Jack wagged a gloved index finger in Tim's face.

"Just because I slept with Marisa?"

"You _slept_ with her?" Jack was astonished, but also sort of entertained. He got over his surprised quickly, frowned, and stared scrutinizingly at Tim. "What a lovely image."

Tim turned his head slightly. "You didn't know?"

"No, she didn't tell me any dirty details."

Tim studied Jack while he replaced the shotgun and the shells into the duffel bag. When he zipped it back up loudly, Tim asked, "You're not mad?"

"Of course not. I'm already getting my revenge."

"You're going to kill me over someone you didn't even love?"

"Like. I didn't even _like _her."

"Then why are you going to kill me?"

"Because it's fun to blow stuff up. Especially people."

Tim looked warily at the bomb. He looked eager to continue talking. "What happened to you?"

"I won't bore you with details," Jack declined.

"I'm sorry about Marisa."

"Yeah, me too."

"Don't do this."

"Too late."

"Jack, we know each other."

"So?"

"Please, don't do this."

Jack walked out of the room and brought the knife back into the room. He glanced at Tim, who looked at him with pleading eyes. "Don't do this, please!" Tim cried at last.

Jack lowered himself on one knee and looked at Tim's face. Now there was fear. There was no escaping it. "You can sit here, for a few hours, before the bomb goes off, and think about what you've done." Jack closed the switch blade. Then he laughed. "Hey, at least you won't die a virgin."

He picked opened the box and pressed a button. Within seconds, a high pitched beeping noise started to sound rhythmically. Jack shut the box and placed it in the middle of the room. "Well, it's started."

"You can't do this."

"I already have. You can try to get away, but I doubt you will without any tools. I mean, you don't even have shoes. Plus you're all taped up."

Tim struggled against his bonds, but gave up quickly. "Can I just ask you one thing?"

"Sure," Jack agreed generously.

"How long do I have?"

Jack looked up thoughtfully and tapped his chin with his fingers. Abruptly a laugh burst out of him, but he controlled himself quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just thought of something funny. You have about three hours."

Tim looked at the black box. It was almost unnoticeable in the darkness of the room. Jack picked up the duffel bag.

"Jack, don't do this. I'm sorry."

"It's too late for that."

Tim stared at him bitterly. "If you're just going to kill me, why don't you just blow me away with that shotgun?"

Looking over his shoulder, Jack considered. "You have a point," Jack agreed. He put the bag back down and opened it up. He pulled out the shotgun and pumped it with heavy clicks. He took a step towards Tim and lowered the muzzle right into Tim's face. He pulled his head back as far as it would go, bumping against the wall. Jack pressed the muzzle into Tim's cheek, nodding. "You're absolutely right. I could just shoot you in the face." Jack lowered himself again, still pointing the gun in his face. "Would you like me to? Or would you like three more hours to live?"

Tim tore his eyes away from the gun and looked at Jack.

"That's what I thought," Jack said, all pretense of smiles and laughter gone. He was dead serious.

Placing the shotgun back into the duffel, Jack zipped and picked it up. When he was outside he collected the key and the duct tape. "I almost forgot." He went over to Tim and taped up his mouth so he couldn't yell. The beeping continued, gentle, but persistent. "You have a fighting chance, you know. Three hours is a long time. Maybe someone will even come and save you. Maybe, Marisa. If she figures out where you are."

Tim already looked faithless in Marisa's abilities, and with good cause. Marisa wasn't the best problem solver in the world. Jack waved goodbye and pulled the garage door closed, leaving Tim in darkness. The beeping was inaudible now, and Jack locked the door. Pocketing the keys, he picked up the bag and draped it over his shoulder.

He switched off the light and just before he was about to leave, Jack drawled, "Byeeeee!"

He made his way in the rain - it had started up again - to the car. He got in and sat there for a minute, checking his face to make sure no more of the make up had gotten smudged. He had brought the make up with him, but he decided this smudged, messy look was much more scary and suited to his needs. He let it be and drove the car to Marisa's house.

It was time to pay his ex-girlfriend a visit.


	18. Time's Ticking

_**Chapter 18 - Time's Ticking**_

Jack ditched the Mustang not too far from Marisa's home. She lived in a neighborhood similar to Tim's, but this one was guarded with a security booth and twenty-four-hour personnel. On either sides of the booth were two narrow roads for cars to come in and out of the neighborhood. And on the shoulders of those roads were two large, curved brick walls. On those walls were mounted golden letters naming the neighborhood, Deerbrook Terrace. Light shone on the letters to give them visibility.

Jack had checked the clock on the dashboard before getting out, and the time was not too late, only about nine-thirty. Jack walked far enough to get within thirty feet of the guard's booth. Jack watched for a while to see if there was any movement. After several moments there was a paper moving around, and Jack figured the guard was seated and reading the newspaper. Remaining in the shadows, Jack edged towards the black and white barricade that only the guard could raise with the press of a button.

Jack, once he reached the brick wall, crouched down and looked up at the booth again. There was no movement anymore, since Jack's angle could not allow him to look into the booth too much. He crept behind the wall and dragged the duffel bag with him, ruffling the wet grass. When he was almost past the booth, the bag slipped from his grip and slid into the ditch behind the wall. There was a pool of water flowing into a sewage line under the adjoining road, and the bag made a small splash. "Fuck," Jack breathed. He didn't think that bag was waterproof.

Gripping some of the grass, Jack eased himself a couple of feet lower and grabbed the bag.

"Who's there?" Jack froze. How the hell had the guard heard that little noise? Jack lowered himself deeper down the ditch, until he was almost in the water. He pressed himself down, and turned his white face away.

Footsteps on the asphalt sounded closer and closer as the guard approached. He looked around a little and even leaned over the wall. "Anyone there?"

For a heart-pounding moment Jack thought maybe he had seen him. But the guard walked away.

Jack seized the opportunity to grab the bag and climb like a rodent back up the side of the ditch and head past the booth. As Jack did so he saw the guard return with a flashlight. The guard missed Jack by seconds. Jack hid behind one of the many trees that lines the sides of the road while the guard shone a beam of light down into the ditch and searched for the source of the noise. In less than a minute the guard gave up and returned to his booth, shaking his head.

Jack exhaled in great relief and let himself sit for a moment. That was really close. What if he had been caught? Then Jack steadied his thoughts. He made it already. No what-ifs.

When he was certain that the guard had returned to his mundane task of reading the paper, Jack stayed among the trees and walked quietly towards Marisa's house. This neighborhood was quite large. Jack guessed there were probably between two and three hundred houses here. He took about five minutes to walk to Marisa's house slowly. During this time, the rain started again, and Jack had nothing to do but the bear it. His make up started to wash off this time, staining his clothes and his velvety coat. It would be hell trying to get it off, assuming that this fucking paint didn't stain fabric.

The trees didn't really help keep the rain off. He held his left hand as a visor over his head and at least some of the rainwater drizzled off the side. Some of it leaked into his sleeve. The icy rain soon had him experiencing shudders because it was so cold and now he was wet.

When he was behind the house that stood in front of Marisa's, Jack stopped and checked the streets. It was totally empty of children. _We wouldn't want the kids getting sick now would we?_ Jack thought. But this suited his design just fine anyway. No witnesses.

Jack rounded the house, stumbling upon overgrown weeds and gardening tools. The second time he tripped, he struck a rake, hard, and felt the sharp points graze him through the sock. Jack looked down to find that the stretchy material was torn and his skin was slashed in two places. It was bleeding more profusely than he thought possible. He stamped his other foot and swore, more in anger at the actual event than in any pain. Hastily zipping open the bag, Jack pulled out a pair of normal socks and stuff it down the one he was already wearing to stem the bleeding. He rolled down the jean legs to cover up the abnormal-looking bulge. So much for the fancy socks. Well, his costume was ruined anyway. He was covered in rainwater and mud, bits of grass and rotting old leaves, and, if he wasn't mistaken, he had rolled in some dog crap while down in the ditch. Maybe it was just the sewage smelling like that. Jack kept going and stopped before crossing the narrow street. Apparently the owners of the yard he was trespassing through were either asleep or not there.

Jack stopped at the fence and studied Marisa's house. Her window was to the left side of the house, and he could just barely see the glass panes. The lights were off. He was quite sure that her parents were home, since the living room lights were on too. Jack checked for people on the street, and seeing none, he ran with the duffel bags in his arms like a stolen watermelon and crouched under Marisa's window, hidden from the street by some bushes that surrounded the house. After Jack sat there for a minute he heard running water. He put the bag down beside him, and peeked quickly inside the bedroom. She was not on her bed and not at her desk. There was a small pink-hued lamp on her desk, and it was lit. Jack imagined she was in the shower, or at least brushing her teeth. That would explain the running water.

Her window was closed, but he knew it wasn't locked. It was actually hard to push shut - even all her weight was not enough - so she never bothered to fully lock it. After much effort, Jack finally raised the window a few inches. Then finally it slid up the rest of the way easily. He put his head inside and checked for her. She was definitely in the shower. Her bedroom door was closed completely, and Jack picked up the duffel bag and slowly eased it to the lush, carpetted floor. Jack then hoisted himself in, ducking his head.

For a moment he stood there in the room, listening to the water gushing in the bathroom. He took his duffel bag and pushed it under her bed, out of sight. He would get it later. Right now he needed to lay in wait like a stingray under the sand waiting for fresh meat. She was going to be much easier than Tim. He pulled the switchblade out of his pocket and flicked it open. It was actually a magnificent, beautiful weapon, something his father never appreciated. It had a silver handle embedded with pieces of ivory, and sanded down to make one smooth surface. The blade was single-edged and had an elegant serrated tip. Jack was glad he had been united with it again. It was not too large. Or even too small. When it was opened up it was only about an inch longer than his right hand.

Jack went to her vanity dresser and took a quick look at his face. He shook his head as he studied his shambled make up. It was terrible. What a waste of time. He looked around at _her _make up items and saw a box of tissues. Ripping out a couple of sheets he dabbed at the water droplets on his face that mixed with the paint. His skin still kept a watery version of the white. The red had turned pink, so he wiped it off completely, leaving a patch of bare skin around his mouth. The only thing remaining were the black eyes, probably because he had shaded them with his hand. He evened them out a bit, making the streaks more pronounced and edge out right at his cheek bone. He looked around for something red to replace his winning smile, but nothing was there.

He listened to the water again and he thought there were no signs of stopping. He spread the white paint around his mouth with drops of water from his hair. This would have to do for now, as much as it disappointed him. He looked like all those stupid skeletons he hated. He ran a hand in frustration through his hair. Water leaked off and he ruffled his hair with both hands, shaking out the water.

When he was finished he shook his hands to dry them as he walked around the room.

The water stopped. There was silence, then some footsteps in the tub. Jack grabbed his knife off the dresser and backed himself into her closet. He pressed himself against her hanging clothes and held the knife against his shoulder. With his head turned to his right he waited for her to walk out of the bathroom.

After a few moments, the door opened and copious amounts of steam billowed out. She stepped out with a towel to her hair and walked to her bed.

Jack was actually stalled a moment by her naked body. He really wasn't expecting it, although hindsight told him he should have. He waited and admired her curved back and smooth legs, forgetting for a moment that he was there only to terrorize her. He gave an involuntary sigh.

Marisa gasped and spun around instantly, moving the towel from her head to her chest.

She was apparently too stunned to scream. Jack acted quickly and tackled her into the bed, clapping his left hand over her mouth as she finally issued a muffled squeal.

He pressed the blade to her cheek, and it probably felt icy cold after her hot shower. She flinched violent, but didn't resist him. Her eyes were wide with fear, and Jack guessed she didn't recognize him in the dim pink lighting. "Don't scream," Jack whispered lowly.

She just stared at him, wide-eyed. Then her eyebrows lowered as recognition dawned on her face. "Jack?" She asked through his hand.

Jack nodded and said, "Will you scream if I let you go?"

She frowned, but didn't reply.

He took another approach. "Tim is somewhere. No one knows where he is except me. He might die in about two-and-a-half hours. Will you scream if I let you go?"

She still didn't look convinced, but shook her head.

Jack released her and she tucked the towel around her breasts and between her legs. She looked highly uncomfortable. Jack went to her closet and pulled out what looked like a recently washed bathrobe. He tossed it to her and she pulled it on modestly, making sure not to show him any of her... goods. He felt insulted, but it was just as well. He wasn't going to sleep with her again anyway.

They had actually only slept together once. Each of them lost their virginity and it was more of a let's-get-it-over-with thing than an I-want-to-make-love-to-you thing. It wasn't planned and a bit of feeling up had them both aroused and they had decided to go at it once and for all, on the spot. It was, to put it plainly, mediocre at first. She didn't really seem interested in helping the motions. She had just sort of sat there under him, probably faking her moans. Well, Jack had decided, since she wasn't interested in trying to please him, then he would put all his energy into trying to make it the most pleasurable himself. Well, he had decided, but it wasn't a totally conscious thought. He had come to the conclusion, after that one time, that he couldn't actually think while having sex. His body took over and it was all instinct from there. And the body's natural instinct was to pleasure itself.

So he had corrected her position to make it easier on himself. Not in the nicest way, he knew that already. But he couldn't help himself. Only until he had climaxed and calmed his breathing he realized that the sex had transitioned to rape. She had told him to stop numerous times, until finally she gave up and let him do what he wanted. He didn't even know if she had orgasmed. He didn't care, either.

Well, that was the end of their sex. That was probably the point where their relationship ended and they were just keeping up appearances for a while.

She cleared her throat, but her voice still came out shaky. "What are you talking about?"

"He's about to get blown to bits actually."

"That's not funny," she said finally, her face fretful.

"It's not supposed to be. Well, not for you. He could actually die."

"Stop lying."

"I'm not lying."

She bit her lower lip and looked down at her bed. She pulled her robe closer as though she was cold.

"Time's ticking." Jack pulled the keys out of his pocket. "You're the only one who can save him."

"How do I know you're telling the truth? What if you're lying?"

Jack sat next to her on the bed and put an arm around her. She tried to draw away, but Jack held her close. He looked into her luminous eyes and said, "What if I'm _not_?"

She suddenly sniffed. "What's that smell?"

"Never mind that," Jack shook his head. "You don't seem too worried. Do you _want _Tim to die?"

"No," she said, staring accusingly at Jack.

"Oh. Oh! You want _me _to die!"

She didn't reply.

Jack started laughing. "That makes two, maybe three." Jack paused and pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Maybe four."

"What?"

Jack jingled the keys to the storage room. One was the original and the other was a copy. "Are you up for it?"

"Where is he?"

"Well, you're going to have to figure that out."

"What?" She looked worried instantly, almost panicked. "Jack you know that..." She exhaled and looked down.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What? That you're stupid?"

She clenched her teeth. "Yeah. That I'm stupid." She met his mocking eyes with her own determined ones. "But I'm still better than you. I always have been. I've always been out of your league, and I always will be."

Jack nodded patronizingly. "Good come back."

She slapped his face. "Shut up! Where is he?"

Jack extended the keys to her.

She snatched them out his hands and looked at them. Both of them were bare of any markings. "What the hell is this supposed to be? This doesn't help me find him!"

"He's in a storage area. You know at least what that is, don't you?"

"I know what that is!" She snapped and got to her feet. She grabbed some clothes out of her dresser and a shirt out of her closet and stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Within a minute she was dressed and stepped out of the bathroom. She grabbed a jacket and pulled it on violently. "I don't understand why you're doing this."

"Because you slept with him."

She froze in the middle of what she was doing and looked at Jack. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh, I have my ways."

Her face turned to disgust. "You weren't peeking were you, you fucking pervert?"

He burst out into genuine laughter. "Even I wouldn't sink that low."

She shook her head in a huff and pulled on some boots without wearing socks. "I can't believe this. You're actually telling me you've got him in some storage dump tied to a bomb?"

"Pretty much."

"And you're not lying?"

"Nope."

"How am I supposed to find out which one?"

"Well, he's in this city. That narrows the storage facilities down to about ten. And you only have about two hours to find him. Maybe a little more. Maybe you'll get lucky and pick the right one. I doubt you'll have time to check them all."

She squeezed water out of her hair and grabbed her car keys from her dresser. "I can't believe this."

"Hey, remember, no cops."

She paused at the door and kept going without looking at him.

She ran out of her room and didn't come back. About two minutes later he heard a car start up and peel away.

He wondered if she would call the police. It didn't matter either way. It might even be more fun with the cops running around thinking it was a real problem. Thinking it was a real bomb and that someone would die in a couple of hours. He actually didn't have the capacity to rig up a real bomb. And he didn't want to anyway. What Tim and Marisa did wasn't all that deserving of death.

Jack wondered about Tim listening to the steady beeping, sweating bullets at the thought of dying. But Jack knew it was all just a big scare. The box was really a decoy. Jack had basically designed it to sound like a fake, active bomb. On a small tape-player, he had just recorded about three hours of a meek, beeping alarm. At the end he had recorded an overly loud, dramatic explosion. Using heavy duct tape, Jack had bound the tape player to the base of the box. All he had to do was press PLAY and watch the panic rise in Tim's face. It had worked like magic.

It was too bad he couldn't hang around to watch. But before the night was over he had one more thing to do. And this time someone _would _die.


	19. Murder is Sweeter

_A/N: I really wasn't too sure about using the lyrics from this song to accentuate this chapter, but this song is so perfect for Jack, in my opinion. It was a song I thought of at the very beginning of the story, but one I had to be patient to use at the perfect time. It's called Halls of Illusions by Insane Clowne Posse. I never would have found this amazing song if it wasn't for my husband's impeccable taste in all music, whether godly and wholesome or satanic and evil. This song is really awesome and twisted, but only the first part is relevant so I just used the first half. I'm pretty sure most of you will listen to the song to get a feel for the chapter. Enjoy! _

_**Chapter 19 - Murder is Sweeter**_

Jack left Marisa's bedroom soon after he heard her car drive away. He left through the window again, not bothering to close it.

He wasn't walking distance from where is father was currently living, but he did walk. He walked for almost two hours, slowed down because of his injured leg. His brain understood what he was about to do, his heart leapt everytime he thought about the actual act. He was nervous, but it was a thrilling feeling. Not the sort of apprehension that made him scared. He was looking forward to it. Like an actor looks forward to stepping out on stage for the first scene on opening night.

His make up was completely gone by the time he arrived there, and his coat was soaked all the way through. Apparently, the rain had no intention of stopping. Jack's hair was matted with rain water to his forehead and neck, water running down the back of his shirt. His costume was in shambles after the constant rain. Even the clothes inside his bag were wet. His coat had turned to water logged black and his green vest was now an arbor green.

His wound was stinging with every step, making him limp. He needed an antiseptic or at least rubbing alcohol. But the pain enraged him. It made him feel even more capable of what he was about to do. He bitterly recalled the pain he had endured when his father had shattered his shoulder. He would never forget. He vowed not to. He vowed to remember the instant his shoulder broke when he blew his father's face off.

Still deep in thought, Jack approached the house. The rain continued to drizzle down. The porch light was off, and all the windows in the house were dark. He expected they were asleep. His father's Pontiac sat in the driveway covered with drops of water.

Jack stopped and stared at the house for several moments. He didn't know it, but he had actually lost quite a lot of blood. He had left several smears of blood in Marisa's bedroom. All of a sudden he felt extremely tired, his exhaustion and injury finally catching up to him. But the night was not yet through. He sighed and sat on the curb. The whole neighborhood was dead asleep. It must have been around midnight. Jack lifted up the leg of jeans and pulled out the wadded sock. It was soaked in blackish blood. Pulling down the colorful sock, he examined the exact extent of the damage. There was skin hanging off each gash, blood congealed both inside and around the cuts. It was a real mess. He noticed he didn't feel sick to look at blood anymore. He guessed it wasn't so bad. He had actually enjoyed making Tim bleed a little. The blood alone seemed to be life itself. Loose too much and you simply die.

Jack opened his bag and pulled out some fresh, but wet, socks. He wrapped his ankle properly and pulled the colored sock back over.

When he was finished, he took out the make up kit. Since it was packed inside a clear plastic case, the paint was untouched by the rain water seeping into the duffel bag. Using the car's side mirror as a guide, Jack smeared on some more white. He didn't bother with the applicators this time. He just used his fingers. At first he started off using only his right hand. But soon the make up tray was strewed on the ground and both his hands were covered in white.

When he was finished, he shoved both fingers into the black and rubbed on the paint, almost furiously. He was finished in less than a minute, and using both hands once again he rubbed on red mixed the black already on his fingers, giving himself a bloody smile once more. The make up was messy but it did not look as haphazardly done as when the rain had smeared it. Jack pulled off drops of rain from the car's windows and sides and streaked the paint. It looked a bit murkier now, but he wasn't sure how to get the way the rain had caused it to become. Jack gave up for now and packed his paint away.

He messed up his hair too make himself look more deranged. It dangled in limp, wet locks on his forehead and over his ears. The cold hair stuck on his neck, giving him chills. Opening up the duffel bag, he dug around for the red clown nose he had purchased. He didn't want anyone seeing his face and recognizing him from the murder scene. He ripped it out the plastic wrapping and stuck it on. When he looked in the mirror he almost couldn't recognize himself. Usually the nose, even though it didn't move around like the eyebrows or the lips, was very defining to the face. Get the nose wrong and the person looks totally differnt. Dumping the empty plastic wrapping back into his duffel bag, he pulled out the shotgun. It was already loaded and cocked.

He carried his bag to the front door and looked for a place to tuck it away. The only available place was a small bush beside the porch steps, but it was only a tiny bit smaller than the bag itself. Jack decided this would have to do, since he would have to make a quick getaway. Tucking the bag down behind the bush, against the outer wall of the house, Jack tried the front door handle. He didn't expect it to open, but he needed to be stealthy. It didn't hurt to try. It was locked shut.

Jack slowly and systematically checked the windows. Each one was locked and secured properly. If he tried to force them open he would have made too much noise. Finally, Jack checked the garage door. He pulled it up without searching to find out whether it was locked or not. But it slid up easily with a metallic grinding noise. When he slipped inside he discovered that the lock was broken. Sliding it up only about three feet, Jack ducked inside and eased it shut.

He clutched the shotgun with his wet gloves. He rounded another car that sat silently in the garage and evaded tools and boxes that lay all around. The garage apparently doubled as a storage room. He tried the door to lead into the house and it opened quietly.

_Ticket please, thanks, walk through the door  
Into the Halls Of Illusions, visit yours  
And see what coulda and shoulda and woulda been real  
But you had to fuck up tha whole deal  
_

When he stepped inside he stopped and listened to the house. Total silence. Jack stepped inside a little, his feet leaving wet prints on the ceramic tiled, off-white kitchen floor. He breathed in the cool dry air, feeling chills pass through the wet clothes into his tense body.

He crept deeper inside, treading through the darkness carefully.

The kitchen was connected to the living room. In a small nook was a yellow nightlight. Jack was about to turn away from the living room when he saw a figure on the couch. He froze and held his breath. After he waited several moments, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could tell it was the blond woman that saved his life. He let her lie there and turned towards the pitch black hallway that obviously led to the bedrooms. Jack checked over his shoulder again to make sure she was deep in her slumber. She didn't stir except to breathe in and out.

_"Lets take a walk down the hallway  
It's a long way it, it takes all day!"  
_

Jack stepped inside, and when he was travelling through the hallway he heard a low, rumbling snoring. His face contorted in hatred just at the thought of his father sleeping while his mother lay in a morgue or grave somewhere, all rotting flesh and no life. Jack's mind flashed a vivid remembrance of her corpse, desecrated by the maggots and horrible stench.

He pressed on, holding shotgun as steadily as possible. How long had he wished for this? Since he was thirteen? Twelve? The fight for freedom was always most ferociously fought. The only thing that was possibly more savage was a fight for revenge. Revenge for the hurt caused. Revenge for the fear. Revenge for the wasted years. Revenge for the rest of his life probably never being normal.

The door was open only about two inches. Jack leaned his head to look through the crack, but the room was totally dark. He touched the door with his gloved right hand and pushed it open gently. He slinked into the room, crouching low in case his father suddenly awakened. But nothing of the sort happened. Jack reached up behind him and twisted the doorknob gently, without a sound. Still holding the knob turned, he pushed the door quietly into place and allowed the knob to turn back. He turned the lock so that the woman could not enter.

_And when you get to tha end, you'll find a chair  
With straps and chains, we slap you in there  
Lock you down tight so you can't move a thread  
And pull your eyelids up over your head  
Cuz you're about to witness an illusionary dream  
It's just too bad it ain't what it seems  
_

Jack turned back towards the bed. It was a large, plush, queen-sized bed. He wondered what argument had caused her to sleep on the couch, in her own home. Staying close to the carpetted floor, Jack waddled over to the bed, his father's snoring taking care of any small noises Jack made while moving. Craning his neck to look at his father, Jack got ready to stand. His father lay sprawled on his back, the sheets tangled around his legs. He was wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of jersey pants.

_You walk in and see two kids on the floor  
They playin Nintendo and he's got tha high score  
And sittin behind them chillin in a chair  
Is your wife, when ya look, oh, you ain't there  
It's some other man in the hand in hand  
Now she looks so happy you don't understand  
See this is an illusion, it never came true  
All because of you!  
_

Taking a breath and holding it, Jack raised himself up to his full height. He pointed the shotgun down at his father's face. His mouth was open about the diameter of a quarter, contributing to his snoring. Jack lowered the shotgun's nozzle into his father's mouth about two inches. His father stirred, and the snoring cut off into a snort. He opened his eyes sleepily, but in an instant came awake fully. He gave a muffled moan, and tried to reach for the object that was lodged in his mouth.

_Back to reality and what you're about  
Your wife can't smile cuz ya knocked her teeth out  
And she can't see straight from gettin hit  
Cuz you're a fat fuckin drunk piece of shit  
But it's all good here, come have a beer  
I'll break the top off it and shove it in ya ear  
And you're death comes wicked painful and slow  
At tha hands of MILENKO!  
_

But Jack pushed it against the roof of his mouth. "Don't, move," he whispered.

Jack's father simply stared, not as fearful as Jack would have liked. He wanted him squirming like Tim. Then he wanted him dead like his mother.

There was no recognition in his eyes. "Ifff uuur her ko wob nge--"

"What?" Jack pulled the gun out, but kept it pressed to his right, just under the eye, over the sinus.

"If you're here to rob me, just take whatever you want. Just don't hurt my wife."

Jack frowned, but said nothing. Had his father gotten married again already?

His father had his hands spread out, and his right hand started to move towards his pillow.

Jack shoved the gun into his father's face forcefully. "Don't fucking move!" He hissed.

Jack's father stopped where he was. "Take whatever you want."

Lowering his head close to his father's, Jack dared him to recognize his son. But there was no spark in his father's eyes.

Jack pulled off the clown nose. "Why did you kill her?"

His father frowned at last, thrown off his guard. "Jack?"

_Great Milenko, wave your wand  
Don't look now, your life is gone  
This is all because of you  
What you got yourself into  
_

Jack used the butt of the shotgun to deal his father a blow to his head. His head lashed to the side and blood started to leak out of the blunt force wound. His father slowly rolled his head back, his face contorted in pain and confusion. "You won't live long enough to have a concussion," Jack warned.

"Marcy."

His father's voice was hoarse and low, fraught with pain. Jack guessed that was the woman's name.

His father called out again, louder this time, more urgent. Jack dealt him another blow to his jaw, audibly cracking teeth.

"Why did you kill her?" Jack demanded, enraged. But his voice was just a furious, growling hiss.

His father coughed blood. "I didn't," he choked. "She died by accident."

Jack clenched his teeth like springs coiled to their tightest. And he finally let go, viciously pounding the gun's end into his father's face, over and over and over again. "Don't fucking lie to me!" He shrieked.

Within a minute the white pillows were a bloody mess, his father's face unrecognizable from all the trauma. Even his nose was twisted to the side, broken.

Jack pressed the nozzle of the gun to his father's stomach. "You shouldn't have killed her," Jack shook his head.

Amazingly, his father could still talk, even though several of his teeth were broken and his mouth was filled with blood. "Don't shoot me," he gurgled.

Jack pulled the trigger without a reply, and the gun shot was a cannon in the confined room.

His father made no cry as the beads of metal ripped through his guts, he only exhaled a little. It was obvious he felt no pain at first, but then his back spasmed and he sucked in a ragged breath. The air bubbled through the blood in his mouth, and Jack was sure he would drown in it. It started to pour out of his mouth, over the corners and down his chin. He gripped Jack's arm and gasped for air.

Jack spitefully tore his arm away, watching his father die.

He would have enjoyed watching the whole scene, but stupid Marcy had to go spoiling the fun. There was insistent banging on the door, and she screamed, "Let me in!"

Jack would have guessed that common sense would dictate any person to run in the _opposite_ direction of a gunshot, but apparently she was lacking. Jack opened the door as he heard her throw herself against it, making the entire door shudder and buckle. She stumbled into the room, and crashed into Jack. Jack stepped to the side as she lost her balance fell to the floor, bumping into the bed.

Jack shut the door behind him and turned to her menacingly.

She was on her knees, clutching his father's hand in horror. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" She grabbed for the corded phone by the bed and Jack strode swiftly towards her, clutching her hair and dragging her back. She cried out in pain and release the phone, her hands going to her hair to keep them from being pulled out at the roots. Jack let her go and she stayed there, staring desperately at him. "Please, he's going to die!"

"Get up," Jack ordered, the gun aimed at her chest.

She started sobbing and stood up, using the bed to help her steady herself. Jack's father clutched at her back, silently begging for help.

She cringed away from Jack as he came nearer, holding the gun towards her collar bone.

"Please," she moaned, shaking her head. "Don't kill me."

"You shouldn't have killed my mother," Jack replied coldly.

She didn't deny it, and her face contorted into a grimace of sorrow. She clutched her chest as it heaved under her sobs. Jack watched her cry a little, his eyes darting from her to his dying father. His movements were not so erratic now. He had lost massive amounts of blood and he was near death. His eyes sleepily stared back, almost void of emotion.

_Great Milenko, wave your wand  
Don't look now, your life is gone  
This is all because of you  
What you got yourself into  
_

"I saved your life!" She shrieked at last.

Jack was not fazed. He shook his head. "You helped destroy it." He gave her no chance for reply and cocking the gun again, he fired into her chest. She flew backwards a little and sprawled across his father's legs. She gasped, unable to breath because both her lungs were now perforated, blood leaking into them instead of life-giving air.

The both of them lay there in their blood, unable to help themselves. Jack's father died first and then Marcy gave in quickly.

Jack searched around for his nose and then lifted up Marcy's limp head, discovering the red lump under her blond hair. He picked it up and stuck it back on his nose, quickly leaving the house through the backdoor. Leaving the door open and rounding the house, he retrieved his duffel bag and ran away into the raining night before cops could arrive.

_--_

_Please review! _


	20. On the Way to Gotham

_A/N: Thank you all so much for reviewing, it makes me feel really great that there is someone out there who wants to read my story!! By the way, I don't really travel by bus much, but I think I got the basic gist of how the bus system works. _

_**Chapter 20 - On the Way to Gotham**_

Rain poured down yet again as Jack walked to a nearby park. It was surrounded by trees and there was a set of restrooms located in the central area of the park. Slopping over the soggy grass and his make up melting _yet again_, Jack walked towards the restrooms, hoping they would not be locked. His hopes were dashed when he saw heavy locks on both the Men's and Women's restrooms. He kicked the door dejected, making the chains clang. The rain drowned out the noise.

On his way to the park Jack had stripped off his coat, vest and his nose, stuffing them both into his duffel bag along with the shotgun. The rain poured miserably over his head and shoulders, the awnings offering little cover for him. Jack searched around for a water fountain, at least, to wash off his paint, and this time luck was on his side and he didn't have to go far. He used the frigid water to wash of the paint, glad to be finally rid of it.

He looked around every now and then to make sure there was nobody watching him. The park was totally empty of human life, except for him.

There were lit lamps strategically placed to give park even lighting, and Jack noticed his shirt collar was spotted liberally with dark drops. He knew it was blood, and he unbuttoned the shirt and removed it, letting the rain wash his body.

He took handfuls of water from the water fountain and poured it over his head, washing out all the remains of the face paint.

After several minutes he was finished, and dragged his feet to a shaded area with several picnic benches. He dropped his bag and collapsed onto the bench, exhausted beyond belief. He had no towels or anything, so he pulled out a clean, relatively dry shirt and dried himself off, then put on a long-sleeved, shirt that was made of a cotton and polyester blend. He hoped it would keep him warm but he seriously doubted it. His hair felt like icicles and his head was freezing. Jack stretched himself on top of the picnic table, and used his bag as a pillow. Although he was cold, Jack fell asleep in minutes.

As tired as he was, Jack was not able to sleep for more than a couple of hours. He awakened with a splitting headache and an aching body. He pushed himself up and looked around, darkness still surrounding the park around him. His hair was still damp, but it wasn't as bad as before. He got off the picnic table and picked up his bag. He yawned.

Getting a drink of water at the same water fountain, Jack left the park in search of a Seven-Eleven.

He didn't find one, but he did find a gas station that was open twenty-four hours. He walked into the delicious warmth and glimpsed a table with two chairs in the corner near a set of coffee machines. Jack looked at the clerk, who glanced at him and went back to reading a magazine.

Jack went to the clerk and cleared his throat before starting to talk. "How much is your coffee?"

"Small one is fifty cents. Large is seventy-five."

Jack dropped seventy-five cents on the counter and prepared himself a cup of coffee. He sagged into the hard plastic chair and sipped at the hot liquid. It warmed him up quickly and soon his fingertips were no longer icy, but hot with blood.

When he was finished Jack realized he was filled with a ravenous hunger. Drinking the coffee had started up his digestion and now he needed food. He grabbed four different pre-packaged sandwiches from a fridge and several packets of beef jerky. He purchased them from the clerk. He was about to leave when he saw packets of Advil and Tylenol in boxes behind the counter. Jack bought several packets of those too, along with a soda. He was sure his bodily aches had to do with an onset of a cold or a fever.

He had a total of about two hundred dollars left. Jack had to leave town before he was caught. Surely Tim and Marisa were rescued by now. He chuckled to himself as he thought about the chaos that must have ensued. Marisa must have been tearing her hair out and Tim must have pissed himself. Well, whatever the case, they would, without a doubt, accuse Jack as the perpetrator and the cops would begin searching for him.

As Jack walked along he popped a couple of the Advils and washed them down with the soda. He wished his coat was not soaking wet, and realized he should have laid it out on the picnic table beside him so it could have at least dried out a little.

He spent the next hour or so, about three in the morning, walking to a bus station on the outskirts of town. There wasn't any transit line that led across the country, but there were buses that took travellers to Tampa, where there was a Greyhound Bus Station. He had to get a connecting bus from there. Getting to Tampa would take about an hour.

He went to a bus terminal for the local transit and searched for a bus to get out of town. Within a half hour he was ticketed and seated on a bus that would depart at four-thirty in the morning.

Grateful for the dry warmth of the bus, Jack leaned back into the high backrest of the bus seat and drifted off to sleep again.

When he awakened the bus was already moving, and apparently it had pulled out of the parking lot a long time ago. There was no one seated next to him, or in the seats opposite him across the center aisle. He leaned forward and stretched, his back sore from sitting upright.

Over the next forty-five minutes he snacked and stared out of the window, picturing the dead bodies of his father and his mistress. He hadn't been able to find out why they had killed his mother. Why did his father have to be such a fucking liar? Even at the threat of death he didn't feel sufficiently pressured into telling the truth.

Maybe one day he would find out. Probably years later. After all the shit his father had put the family through, Jack admitted to himself that he never expected this. Actually the only thing he had slightly expected was that his father would one day die at his hands. But that wasn't something shocking or traumatizing to Jack. He was glad at least that had gone as planned, even though most other aspects of his life were total catastrophies.

After arriving at Tampa, Jack was the last person to climb off the bus. He stopped and looked around at gigantic bus terminal. There were more people present at such an early time of the day, and there were noises of banging luggage and carts and even people talking at the normal volume seemed to be yelling because their voices echoed.

When Jack walked to a ticket counter to buy another ticket to lead him to Gotham City, the ticket clerk suggested that he could take a train instead of a bus. He said the train would take about the same amount of time, but with far fewer connecting trips. Jack shrugged and took the suggestion, purchasing a train ticket at a nearby train station. This left him with only thirty-seven precious dollars.

After he got on the train, he was asleep before it departed.

Taking Advil didn't help stave off the fever. After a short nap, Jack woke up shivering. He retreated to the restroom, not daring to leave his duffel bag unattended. The restroom was cramped and shook around as the train hurtled along the tracks. There was a loud metallic chugging as the train went along, drowning out any noise from outside the restroom.

Jack laid the bag down on the floor after discovering that there was no counter or table. He gripped the corners of the white ceramic sink and looked at himself in the mirror. For a second he thought he hadn't removed all of the paint, but his eyes were encircled with a horrible bluish gray. His eyes were dull and bloodshot and even his lips, like his skin, were pale. Sweat glistened on the edge of his hairline under the over head light, and he turned on the cold water tap. Splashing icy water on his face, Jack ripped off some cheap brown paper towels from the dispenser and wiped his face.

Just as he was about to leave, he decided to check on his leg once again. But the blood had dried o the fibers of the white socks. He winced as he pulled the sock free, restarting the bleeding. "Shit," he swore, hastily wadding up some toilet paper to dab at the renewed flow of blood. He desperately needed some bandages, maybe even stitches. As soon as he left the train he would have to find a pharmacy. He couldn't go to a hospital now. Probably not in the next few years. They would all be looking for someone by the name of Jack Napier, looking to charge him with two homicides.

He shook away his thoughts and rewrapped the wound with the less bloody sock. The other one he just stuffed into his duffel bag.

The next few hours Jack spent sitting at his seat, bundled up under some more of his clothes. No matter how much he tried to keep warm he couldn't stop his shivering. This time he took two pills of acetominophen and laid himself across the two three passenger seats, using his duffel bag as a pillow again. It took him almost an hour to fall asleep again, but he finally did.

This time, when he woke up, he was no longer shaking. His skin was cold, and slightly clammy. He pushed himself up, his back popping from the stiffness of his position. He looked around for other passengers and they were all napping or reading or talking, doing various things to keep themselves busy during the long trip. Jack swallowed over a dry lump in his throat, feeling that it was scratchy. He coughed, trying to get rid of the feeling, but it didn't leave. He thought he was probably coming down with a cold.

When Jack stepped off the train onto New York City soil, the evening air was noticeably colder than the Florida air. It was more nippy and the cold sank right into his very bones. He needed a jacket desperately.

Searching around for any stores, he only saw a newsstand and a snack and coffee shop.

He wistfully wished for a clothing store, but instead he stepped into the warmth of the coffee shop. He gave a sigh of relief and purchased a cup of rich coffee. He could not taste the bittery sweetness of the coffee, probably because of the oncoming cold. Disappointed, he finished the coffee quickly and asked the cashier for a nearby clothing store.

The guy gave him directions to the closest one, which was several blocks away.

Jack thanked him ungratefully and left.

By the time he arrived at the store, he was shaking again. Walking in, he quickly found a black and gray, heavy men's jacket for thirty dollars. He threw in a couple of more dollars for a winter hat and a pair of low quality leather gloves. Finally armed against the biting cold, Jack walked out feeling much better. He was down to forty-seven cents. "Fuck," he muttered as he stared at the change.

Jack returned to the train station to ask how to get to Gotham City. The information desk directed him about three blocks away to a local bus terminal that would take him directly to Gotham.

Jack was relieved, but he didn't have any money left. How was he supposed to get to Gotham now?

He stood around at the ticket counter and watched as other people gave him curious glances and bought their own tickets.

After about fifteen minutes of standing there, a security guard in black approached him. "Do you need any help?"

Jack looked away from the guard's face and shook his head.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

Jack didn't have any patience. "Why are you harrassing me?"

The guard was not impressed. He pointed at a sign posted clearly at the ticket counter. _No soliciting. No loitering. No pets._

Jack picked up his bag and glared at the guard. Then he walked away, leaving the guard staring after him.

In the end though, Jack just took a circular walk around the entire bus terminal and ended up at the same spot. He warily looked out for the fucking guard who couldn't leave him alone.

There wasn't really a closed off area at the terminal, and cold air drafted in and out. Outside dusk was already done with and it was night. The air was clear, but colder than ever. Jack curled up on a bench _away_ from the ticket stand. He was at a loss for what to do. He couldn't rob someone. He couldn't commit any crimes that would draw attention.

After the terminal cleared and homeless men wandered in to sleep for the night, Jack decided on a course of action. He left the terminal and started walking, in search of a highway.

When he did, he started hitchhiking, using the highway signs to guide him towards Gotham. He saw a sign for Gotham City Network Media Group with a dignified, typical crew of news anchorers and reporters. After a while several signs in a row bore the name Wayne, including non-profit charity groups and real estate groups, all based in Gotham. Another sign, this one a lot more extravagant than some others, revealed a glorious nightlife that would attract tourists to Gotham. Another billboard sported an advertisement for Amusement Mile's Annual Horror Fest. It was about twenty-five miles away, in Gotham City.

Although amused by the entertaining, yet dark, personality of the approaching Gotham, Jack noticed that no one bothered to even slow down.

Then no one even appeared. Jack regretted leaving the relative warmth and shelter of the bus terminal, but after considering the smell hobos, decided it was for the best that he had left.

Yawning as he walked along, Jack lost all track of time during the passing hours of the night. He took breaks every now and then as he walked, and then too tired to go on, slept on the side of the road in a ditch. Hopefully a car wouldn't run off the road and run him over. Actually, maybe hopefully, it _would_.

When he woke up dawn was etched in the east, which showed that the highway was travelling north, which meant Gotham was also north.

Cars began to pass by every now and then in the early morning, and Jack had already given up hope of being picked up by a driver. So it came as a big surprise to him when a beaten up, shaking car slowed down beside him as it drove up behind him.

"Need a ride? Nice ass, baby."

Jack frowned a little in disgust at the hoarse voice, which was clearly a woman's, but obviously she had smoked too many cigarettes. He stopped and looked at the woman, who was approximately in her fifties, or maybe even less. She had too many wrinkles on her face to tell for sure, because according to her face, she could have been about sixty, but according to the firmness of her breasts she could have been in her late thirties. There was a lit cigarette in her right hand. She stuck her left elbow out of the car window.

She looked a little surprised when she actually saw how young Jack was, and she asked suspiciously, "How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen," Jack replied without missing a beat.

"Ripe for the picking, huh?"

"Huh?" _Gross,_ Jack thought.

"Do you need a ride?" She asked like she thought he was sort of slow on the uptake.

Jack was about to say yes when he noticed a sexual innuendo. He narrowed his eyes. "What sort of a ride are you talking about, lady?"

She laughed. "Both kinds, if you want."

"Just take me to Gotham, all right?" Jack declined her advances.

Clearly snubbed at the remark, the lady asked nastily, "What are you, a queer?"

Jack laughed dryly, far surpassing her attempt at cruelty. "No, I just don't really feel like fucking an ugly bitch like you."

Her face drained of blood at the statement. With an acrid glare, her whole body shook as she stomped on the gas and peeled away, leaving the rancid smell of burning rubber.

Jack threw his arms up in the air. "Fucking whore," he muttered and kept walking.

--

_A/N: I feel like nothing much really happened in this chapter, and I'm sorry for that. The next chapter will see Jack in Gotham and within the seedy underbelly of the city notorious for its crime rate. _


	21. The Mysterious Man

_A/N: I can't believe it's been almost two weeks since I updated this story, and well, writer's block crops up most when it's unwanted (Is it ever wanted?). I wasn't sure how to get Jack into the whole crime scene in a realistic way, but I have it figured out now. It had to go this way because certain things need to happen that are important to the whole plot. He _is_ the Joker, after all. He didn't appear out of nowhere. Perhaps the names, Joe Chill, and The Red Hood ring a bell?_

_**Chapter 21 - The Mysterious Man**_

Jack walked about two or three miles with short breaks in the middle by the time a truck driver picked him up. The man didn't seem too interested in Jack, in fact he insisted he wanted to know nothing. He said it was his, "Good deed for the day."

Jack took up the offer and rode in the back of the truck, which held a cramped bed and screen shielded windows. Jack slept

well as the truck rocked along on the road, the steady humming making him drowsy like the motions of the vehicle.

The truck driver woke him up at about five in the evening to let Jack know they were in Gotham and guys were unloading his truck. Jack left the truck and walked through the back of the gigantic store they were loading endless boxes into with forklifts. He went mainly unnoticed, until a person with a clipboard saw him and yelled at him. "Kid you shouldn't be here! It could be dangerous. Go on, get the hell outta here."

Jack sped up and walked out of the back storage room through a door that said, "Employees Only." He had wandered into a supermarket. He walked around for several minutes, and finally found a pharmacy section. He was grateful to find some gauze, medical tape and alcohol to shoplift, and easily walked out without anyone stopping him.

When he was about three or four block away from the supermarket, he retreated to a secluded spot that he discovered under a bridge. Car and trucks zoomed by above him, the heavier vehicles making the concrete tremble ever so slightly. He slid down onto the sloping concrete, which was connected to another vertical concrete slab that supported the bridge.

Jack finally undid his shoe and pulled it off. He pulled off everything from his foot and rolled up the leg of the jeans. The wounds were blackened with dried blood, but when he looked closer he saw the raw, red flesh underneath. Opening up the bottle of alcohol, he took off the safety seal. Setting it aside, he dug around in his duffel bag and pulled out some more clean socks. There was a damp, musty odor coming from his bag now, signifying that bacteria and mold had already started growing on his clothes. Picking up the alcohol again, he poured large amounts onto the sock, until it was soaked. He felt a coolness as the liquid started to evaporate quickly. Gritting his teeth, knowing it was going to fucking _burn_, Jack pressed the sock to the two gashes. At first he felt nothing, but then a fire started burning, one he couldn't get rid of. "Ahh, fuck!" He winced, and dropped the sock. He squeezed above the wound, hoping to stop the blood flow, but it was too late.

Without knowing what else to do, Jack punched the wound. He punched it with his left fist, which came away bloody. "Fuck you!" He screamed, and his voice echoed against the underside of the bridge. He took the sock again and poured more alcohol on it. He pressed the dripping wet sock to the wound again, and kept it there. When he started to feel the area grow numb with the pressure, he relinquished his death grip and sighed. He opened up the packet of gauze and wrapped it around the wounds, not too loose and not too tight. He taped it securely with the surgical tape, hoping that it would heal nicely and without infection. He guessed he probably needed some stitches too, but if he did get stitches he would have to perform the minor surgery on himself.

Leaning back on the concrete wall behind him, Jack rested. He pulled out his clothes and saw how great the damage was. His beautiful purple trenchcoat was full of hardened wrinkles and splotched with white paint. It was still wet - not damp, wet - from the night before, giving off the humid, moist smell of mold. He laid it flat beside himself, knowing there was no way it would ever dry in this cold weather. He sat there for almost an hour, thinking about recent events, chuckling to himself at what other people would consider inappropriate thoughts.

He would have to look up the recent news in his old home in Florida to find out if police had any leads. That was, any leads that would trace him to Gotham City. Jack had not told a soul he was leaving town, and that definitely would mystify the police when they couldn't track him down.

After his musings, Jack left the spot, inciting a dull ache in his left leg. He walked with a slight limp away from the bridge, noticing that it was called the New Trigate Bridge. The truck driver from whom Jack had hitched a ride must have driven over this bridge. Jack took a crooked left, staying by the body of water that the Trigate Bridge stood over. The water glistened in the orange light of the setting sun, boats and small ships lazily floating along or staying at docks across the water. Jack started to walk up an incline in the road, and when he reached the top of the gradual hill he stopped and looked around.

He was at a large, busy intersection, and on one corner was the front of the supermarket from which he had just left a while ago. Checking the signs, Jack noticed a large blue letter H, with another sign directly below it. It said, _Arkham Asylum_, with an arrow point back the way that Jack had come from. Another sign pointed north to Aparo Park.

Jack took about twenty minutes with his injured leg to reach Aparo Park. The sun had almost fully set, giving way to glowing street lamps and store signs. Across the street from it was a small convenience store. The building was made of brick, looking sort of like a jailhouse. All the windows were black and obscured with signs for cigarettes and Lottery. He walked inside but regretted doing so instantly. It was just his bad luck. The moment he walked in a guy wearing a ski mask and toting a revolver screamed at him to get inside and get down or otherwise risk receiving a bullet in him. Jack froze for an instant, his heart jolted. But he figured that if he just complied nothing would happen to him. Jack raised his hands and coolly walked sideways to where the guy directed him with the gun. Jack thought it was odd that the sun had barely set and already a crime was being committed. There were three guys, and all of them had young builds. Jack could tell even though their faces were obscured by ski masks. They all wore sweatshirts and sneakers. The one pointing a gun at Jack was black. The others were white.

Jack wished he could get out his shotgun.

"You move, motherfucker, I'll fucking kill you, you understand?"

Jack nodded and stood there with the duffel bag slung over his left shoulder.

The other store patrons were terrified, one family stood in the corner, the parents pushing the child behind themselves. The store clerk looked used to this sort of thing, but still looked afraid and flustered. With shaking hands he handed a paper bag to one of the three guys closest to the counter.

They left backing out of the store, pulling off their ski masks as they turned away from the people inside the store, and ran out. In the few stunned, silent moments after the guys left, the other people in the store let out audible sighs of relief.

They started talking to each other about what exact had happened. The family cuddled with their child, and the mother looked near tears.

Jack didn't join in the conversation. He didn't even buy anything like he had originally planned. When he walked out of the store and then started running from the vicinity, he heard sirens start up, never to stop throughout the whole night.

Jack spent the next few hours sleeping on a bench at Aparo Park. There were a few other men around, but no women. Some of them huddled by a fire in a trash can and some of them took swigs from a bottle of liquor that was inside a paper bag. Jack knew they were all homeless, but he'd be damned if he became like them. No, one way or another, he wouldn't never become like them. Old and tired, drunk and raving, and hopelessly trampled and smothered under the feet of an uncaring society.

After lying there almost completely through the night, catching mildly curious glances from the homeless men Jack couldn't take it anymore and left the park.

Jack spent the next month or so shoplifting and barely sustaining his existence. He lost a lot of weight and slept very little. He had actually gotten rid of the murder weapon, and sent his old costume for dry-cleaning even though he had to mug a person to get the money for it.

Inevitably, his behavior of crime led him to deeper parts of the city, the dirtier, rowdier areas. There were few people around at night, tall, ominous buildings and dark alleys which were party to drug exchanges and prostitution. Jack stayed away from these parts because he was not too keen in being killed for something he shouldn't have seen.

After about two weeks of living on the streets of Gotham City he found a soup kitchen that homeless people gravitated towards early in the morning, sometimes as early as five, while the air was cold and the sky was dark.

Even though Jack saw some of the soup kitchen regulars every morning, and even though some of them tried to get to know him, Jack rebuffed them every time. After a few short days they stopped trying, often glancing at him with curiosity as well as disdain, as though they were put off by him acting as though he was better than they were. Jack didn't care. No one could do anything for him, and there was no point in collecting useless friends.

So he was starting to get known around the area as some weird, lonely kid. Most of the homeless people were middle-aged to old men and women, and Jack could count the number of women on one hand. Jack had yet to see a person his age that wasn't strung along on drugs or offering special services for money.

In the fourth week, Jack noticed a well-dressed, if sickly looking individual following him. Jack didn't know how long this had been happening, but this man did appear every now and then in unexpected places. Jack would have just mugged a person and there was that guy, walking down the street. Jack would be walking to the soup kitchen, and there he would be, sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette. Jack would be trying to shoplight there was that _fucking _guy!

Jack was getting more and more anxious as time went by, wondering who this man was. What if he was a private detective someone had hired in Florida? He couldn't have been a cop - this guy had seen him perform several petty crimes that any other cop would have arrested him for on the spot. Lately he had just started running any time he saw this weird man following him. Jack just looked to shake him, using stores and street corners to disappear. He would wait, staring through the window of the store, until he saw the guy casually pass by, not really concerned, or even seeming to notice that his target had just seen him and run away.

On one night, Jack was starving, as always, and he was standing near a deli, watching people walk in and out with hot or cold sandwiches. Then his heart jolted when he saw that same man walk out of the shop with a long bag in his hand, obviously a sandwich. Jack backed up a couple of steps and turned, crashing into a group of teens. They scorned at him then burst into giggles as Jack ran away from the strange man.

Jack turned a corner and then another, right into one of those alleys he didn't want to be in. It reeked of urine and garbage, and Jack heard some quiet moaning from somewhere deep inside. He gave a grimace of disgust and started to walk out, and the guy was already right in front of him, blocking his path out of the alley.

Jack backed up a little, with nowhere to go. "What do you want?" He demanded finally, not scared or worried, just really irritated at being follow for so many days.

The man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Inspite of his initial thin, and sickly, appearance, he looked remarkably healthy and charming. "Let's give these people some privacy, huh?"

Jack didn't really have a choice in the matter because the man slung an arm around Jack and led him away back onto the sidewalk.

As they walked, the man handed the sandwich to Jack, who took it reluctantly. "You must be hungry," the man said gently.

Jack finally stopped walking, forcing the man to drop his arm and look at Jack. "Who the hell are you?" Jack asked.

"Let's go somewhere a little more private," the man suggested, glancing around at a couple of stray people about thirty yards away on the street, walking hunched in the cold.

"No, I don't think so," Jack declined nastily. He had kept his knife in a band on his left wrist, so that he could pull it out with his right when needed. Now he pulled it out, flicking it open and keeping it trained at the man. "If you follow me again I'll kill you."

Much to Jack's disconcertion, the man didn't look worried in the slightest. As a matter of fact, he looked amused. "That's quite impressive. Now put it away and come with me." There was a trace of impatience in his voice.

"No," Jack muttered. "Start walking."

The man shrugged and walked a few steps away. Jack looked around to see if anyone was watching, but the two people were already out of sight.

After the man was about ten feet away, he turned and brandished a gun.

Jack knew he wasn't getting away now.

"I won't kill you," the man said, all smiles and charm gone. "But I will shoot you. And it hurts like hell."

Jack lowered the knife. He looked defeatedly at the gun. He cursed himself for not having started running right away.

"Drop the knife and kick it here," the man ordered, coming a little closer.

Jack did as he was told, and watched the man pick up the knife and close it against the side of his body. He pocketed it and came closer, touching Jack's chest with the gun. Jack seethed inside, but he said quietly, "Where are we going?"

The man smiled again, putting his left arm around Jack and keeping the gun at Jack's side, much in the way that Jack had kept his shotgun nudged in Tim's side while he was driving. That seemed like such a long time ago. "We're going to an old friend's home. He's going to be pleased to meet you."

--

_Okay, next chapter you'll find out who this Mysterious Man is. _


	22. Recruited

_A/N: For this chapter I couldn't resist adding a little bit of Batman the Animated Series flavor to it, with the mobsters and the whole feel of power and twisted honor that goes with belonging in the mob. There is just something really classy that I wanted involved in this chapter, probably most of which you won't see again, but at least it will give you the sense of how the mob works (in this story anyway) and what they do in terms of recruiting new members and making them feel 'welcome'. _

_**Chapter 22 - Recruited**_

Jack walked with the man to a shiny black car with a silver grill, silver bumpers and spotless hubcaps. This man was rich. Jack got into the car after the man nudged him towards the door. The chauffer held it open rigidly, pristine in his black outfit, almost looking like a naval officer. Jack glanced over his shoulder at the man, and knowing he had no choice, climbed in. The man followed gracefully and sat beside Jack as the chauffer shut the door only hard enough for it to close properly.

Within moments the car eased into motion, rumbling quietly as it travelled along the dark streets.

"Now, tell me. What's your name?"

Jack didn't reply. The man didn't seem to notice the rudeness and just went on as though he hadn't even asked a question. "Why don't you eat your sandwich? I know you must be hungry." The man adjusted his black, Fedora hat and fixed the collar of his coat and settled deeper into the seat. "My name is Anthony. But everyone calls me Tony. I usually run, uh, important errands for my boss. But on the side I function as a recruiter of young, promising men like you."

Jack listened stoically.

"I myself was recruited much in the same way. This was almost twenty years ago. I suppose I was about your age. What are you, sixteen, seventeen? Anyway, I had stolen a car from the wrong person, and well, they came after me. After they saw the fight I put up, they became my friends, and showed me a new way of life."

Jack sighed gently and looked out of the window, already bored. He didn't want a life history. But he did want a way off the streets.

"These people, _we_ people, we treat kids like you real nice. Nicer than your own parents. You from Gotham?"

Jack didn't reply.

"Well, where ever you're from, did your parents kick you out?"

Jack pursed his lower lip, and made no sound.

"Anyway, a lot of our young recruits _do_ get kicked out of home. They have nowhere to go, nowhere to sleep, nothing to eat. We help out."

Then there was silence. Jack finally turned and looked steadily at the man's face. The man was staring straight ahead, allowing Jack to digest this information. Finally Jack cleared his throat. He opened up the bag that held the sandwich and pulled it out. Opening one end of it, he took a bite out of the warm meal. It was a meatball parmesan sub. Jack was sure he'd had better, but right now this was delicious. He took a bigger bite the second time.

"Atta boy," the man chuckled and patted Jack on the shoulder.

Jack rode the rest of the way in total silence, not giving this stranger any inkling of what he was thinking, besides the fact that he actually was ravenously hungry. Jack finished the sandwich in no time.

The black car pulled into the curved sloped driveway of a large mansion. The actual mansion seemed to be in the base of a crater-like formation, the driveway travelling into it almost like a road into hell. There were acres of darkened land around the mansion, and what looked like stables off to the left, and a smaller house a glistening swimming pool to the right. The heavy metal gates were opened by sour-faced, heavy set security guards and then closed again after the car went through.

Jack looked curiously at the luxurious setting, taking in the elegant beauty of the mansion's architecture as well as the expertly gardened bushes flanking the driveway. Whomever this land belonged to, had money to burn, and then some.

The mansion was two floors tall, with a couple of tapered spires and several sloped roofs, as though additions had been made to the initial building. Jack could tell without even looking at the depth of the building that it could fit more than six times the area of his own house back in Florida.

Anthony directed him to the front door, which was several feet tall, like a castle gate and embedded with metal spikes. The man rang the doorbell once, elliciting a deep chime within the mansion, and then knocked twice with the heavy lizard-headed knocker, then knocked once, then twice again.

After a moment the door on Jack's right swung open, and a heavy man dressed in a butler outfit stared haughtily at Jack, then looked at Anthony. The man tipped his hat and said, "Hello, Richard."

The butler nodded once and said snobbishly, "Sir." He stepped graciously out of the way and allowed the two of them to step inside into the warmth of the mansion. After easing the door closed, the butler took the hat from the man, and didn't look too eager to take the filty duffel bag from Jack, but offered anyway. Jack shook his head and the butler hung the hat on a nearby rack and walked away.

Anthony led Jack deeper and deeper into mansion. Fortunately, the lushly carpetted hallway was mostly linear, with closed wooden doors on both sides. The man pulled a blank white paper off the handle of the door and opened it for Jack. "You're welcome to it," the man waved at Jack into the room.

Jack finally opened his mouth to speak. "What is it that you want from me in return for all this wonderful...charity?" Jack rolled his eyes at the last word.

Anthony smiled again, his charm at full throttle. He rubbed the thumb and index finger of his right hand together like he was talking about a pinch of salt for some recipe. "Just a little loyalty." He said 'loyalty' like it was a death sentence.

_What a fucking surprise_, Jack thought sarcastically. "Deal," Jack muttered, and he went into the room and dropped the duffel bag onto the floor.

The man grinned broadly and his eyes smiled along. "Every three doors there is a full bathroom. You're welcome to use whichever one you like. For now don't go anywhere else in the mansion, my boss is very private and doesn't like to have that violated. There are towels and robes in your room. If you're hungry you can ring the intercom in your room for Richard. He'll bring something right up, whatever you want. Don't worry about his attitude, he's like that with everyone. Other than that, get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow morning to go over a few rules. Okay?"

Jack nodded and shut the door. Stripping down to nothing, feeling sticky and dirty, Jack searched for the robes and towels that Anthony had mentioned. Finding them tucked neatly into the drawer of a five-feet tall dresser, he pulled them out and slipped on the robe. The material felt too soft against his dry, weather-damaged skin. Peeking his head out of the door, he saw no one, and found the bathroom marked by a different type of door handle. The other doors along the way had signs or stickers or artwork on them, signifying someone lived in those rooms and wanted people to stay out.

Jack had a long, scalding hot shower and returned to his room with his skin red and his hair wet and both squeaky clean. He had used someone else's shampoo and soap even though there was a clear sign that said "Do Not Touch".

He withdrew to his room and locked the door. Climbing into the softest bed he had ever had the pleasure of lying in, Jack fell asleep instantly.

Jack woke up grudingly to an insistent knocking on his door. He dragged himself out of bed and pulled on the same robe from the night before. Smoothing his thick curly hair down, only to have it spring back up into a stubborn mess, Jack opened the door and looked up sleepily into the eyes of Anthony, who looked fresh and was fully dressed, as though he had been up for hours.

"Feel like learning some things about us?"

Jack frowned and rubbed his eyes. "Right now?"

"I only have about an hour before I have to leave. Otherwise you have to wait here until I get back, which will be about tonight. Your choice. But if you choose later, everywhere is off-limits to you."

Jack shrugged. He didn't mind staying here all day in this room. "Later."

"All right. By the way, I let you go this long, and now you owe me." He paused. "What the fuck is your name?"

Smirking a little, he replied, "Jack."

Anthony nodded. "I'll see you tonight, Jack."

--

_I know this chapter was kind of short and uneventful, but if I had written the rest, which is a pretty long section, this chapter would have ended up way too long. _


	23. First Impressions

_**Chapter 23 - First Impressions**_

At night, around six, Jack heard a knock on his door. He was not dressed; he was still wearing the same robe. He had slept the entire day, getting much needed rest for his tired body. He called Richard so many times for food that he lost track, and the final time he had requested a plate of veal parm over linguini the butler had slammed the door in irritation. Jack smiled at being successful in getting under the butler's skin, and knew it would be a lot of fun pulling pranks on him, simply because he rose to the occasion, even though his butler-training took him a while to do so.

When he opened the door, Anthony looked a little distracted as he kept glancing at his watch and down the hall as though he expected someone to come walking down. "Listen, I don't really have time tonight, I'm sorry. Do you think you could wait one more night?"

Jack shrugged. "I guess I could. Is everything still off-limits?"

"Yeah, it is."

"All right. That's fine. I'm still tired anyway."

"Okay. Kid I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Jack nodded and shut the door as Anthony took off jogging down the hall.

The next morning Jack was still asleep in bed when Anthony started knocking on the door. Deja vu struck him as he opened the door and saw Anthony dressed crisply in his usual, casual-formal attire.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" Anthony asked.

Jack yawned. "It's really early. Give me a half-hour."

Anthony nodded his okay and said, "I'll be waiting in the hall in thirty minutes," and closed the door himself. Jack grabbed some toiletries from his duffel bag and disappeared into the common bathroom. When he was done brushing his teeth, Jack went back to his room, locked the door and pulled out a shirt. However, he had no other alternative pair of pants to wear except the same old, smelly, dirty ones. So he pulled them on and then the shirt, wearing the heavy jacket he had not once regretted spending almost forty dollars on. He stepped out and shut his door. "Will I get a key for this room?"

"Actually, I have that right here." Anthony dug into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a set of two keys. They were copies. As he handed them over, Anthony stared at Jack's pants. "Kid, you need some new clothes."

"I know."

"You can borrow someone else's for now. I can't have you making a bad impression."

"What's the big deal?"

Anthony started walking and knocked on a couple of doors along the way. The second door he knocked on opened up. "Mornin' there, Jimmy. You got some nice clothes? I need to borrow them for a day or two."

Jack couldn't see the guy called Jimmy, but when he spoke he sounded quite young. "What do you need, like slacks?"

"Yeah, slacks, button down shirt and a blazer. Dark colors." Jimmy shut the door and there was no sound for a few minutes.

"I don't wear that sort of stuff," Jack protested.

"I don't care. You're going to work for important people, so you gotta look important."

"What makes you people so important?"

Anthony smiled. "We run Gotham City."

"You don't look like politicians to me."

Anthony laughed. "Sorry, my mistake. We run the politicians that run Gotham City."

"What are you, like the mob?" Jack scoffed.

"We're not like the mob. We _are_ the mob. We're elite kid, and now you're one of us."

"Why did you pick me?"

"We help people here and there, and they help us in return."

"You mean they have no choice."

Anthony waved his finger. "There's always a choice. But some choices are not in your best interests. Do you get what I mean?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"See with us, you get to grow, get access to things some people only dream of. If you want to get anywhere in life you need to know certain people. Without them, you're nothing. I was nothing once. Headed nowhere. But these guys changed me around. Now my name means something. People don't forget my face. And people respect me."

"Are you saying I'm nothing and now I'll be something just because of you?"

Anthony stared at Jack, his smile gone but his eyes sincere. "You have a family here. We're all brothers and sisters. Most of us were at your place in life once. But we're not anymore because of this family."

Jimmy opened the door again and popped his head out to look at Jack. "How's it going?"

Jack simply nodded in response. Anthony stuffed the clothes in Jack's hand. "You got a belt?"

Jack shook his head.

Anthony pushed Jimmy back into his room. "Get me a belt, will ya? Where did you learn how to dress?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jimmy returned, rubbing his shoulder where Anthony had pushed him. "Here. Hey I want all these things back," Jimmy cautioned to Jack.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll get 'em back." Anthony slapped Jimmy on the back and ruffled his hair. Jimmy scowled and shut the door with a light slam.

Jack walked back to his room and changed, this time, locking his door on his way out.

"That's much better," Anthony nodded in approval.

Jack looked at himself, feeling like he was wearing a different sort of clown suit. One that made him feel like an idiot. "Do I have to wear this?"

"Do you have to wear clean clothes that don't smell like shit? Abso-fucking-lutely."

"I mean, can't I just wear jeans?"

"No. Not this time. Come on. You look sharp. Enjoy it."

Jack didn't think he needed clothes to look sharp, he was handsome enough with his broad, well-defined jaw and charming smile. It made ladies swoon.

Anthony patted him on the shoulder and gestured for Jack to follow.

"Tomorrow we're going to get you a new wardrobe. It's on me, all right? Usually recruits get it on credit, but not this time."

"Why?" Jack asked, suspicious of this apparent special treatment.

"I think there's something special about you. It's important to treat special people nice, don't you think?"

"Maybe."

"That's good that you're not quick to trust," Anthony remarked. "People are like snakes, rats, pigs, weasels. Any shitty animal you can think of. Remember that."

_How can I forget? _Jack thought bitterly to himself.

They walked down the hallway and re-entered the lobby from the previous night. Instead of leaving through the heavy front doors, Anthony led him into a medium-sized dining room with a table large enough to seat ten people. The dark wood, glossy table with set complete with candle sticks and silverware and napkins folded in a fan on the gold-lined plates. There was a small, but grand, crystal chandelier that cast jewels of light on the table and across the walls.

The dining room was connected to a gigantic kitchen that held three small tables enough for about six people each. It was more of a private cafeteria than a kitchen. The kitchen counters were tiled in marble gray, just like the floor.

Jack had to admit he was stunned by the luxury of the whole house, but he would never have admitted he was impressed.

There were a few stray people sitting at the tables, eating breakfast while Richard hung over the sink, washing dishes.

"Good morning, Sirs," he nodded serenely.

"Hey Richie, whip us up some bacon and eggs, will ya?"

Anthony offered a seat at the last empty table to Jack and then took a seat himself.

As Richard started up the stovetop for another breakfast, he set up plates and waited on Jack and Anthony like he was a maitre d' at a restaurant. Jack was not used to this sort of treatment, so after the butler asked what beverage he'd prefer this morning, he just decided on a simple answer, "I'll just have what he's having."

"Very good, Sir," Richard nodded and started to ask Anthony what he'd like.

Before Richard could even finish asking his question, Anthony repeated his order of bacon and eggs, and added sausages and pancakes with maple syrup to the list, topping it off with a cup of black coffee and a spot of orange juice.

Richard enunciated a "Yes, Sir," and returned to the kitchen as meat sizzled on the cast-iron pan.

Anthony pulled the napkin off the table and flapping it open with a snap, he spread it onto his legs. Jack picked up his fork and pressed the prongs into the callouses on his hands. There was still a small amount of dirt under his fingernails. Jack looked at the other people at the second table as they conversed in hushed voices and ate their breakfasts, tossing curious glances at Jack. They were all different ages, ranging from about mid-twenties to late-thirties. None of them looked too friendly. In fact they looked hostile, almost jealous as Jack sat and waited for breakfast with Anthony.

Jack looked at the last person at the third table. She sat alone, mulling over some papers. She looked highly intelligent and focused on her work. She was a gorgeous brunette, her short hair brushing the shoulders of her pant-suit jacket The blouse she wore underneath was low cut enough to reveal a hint of cleavage of pale, creamy breasts. She had no breakfast but a steaming hot cup of coffee.

As she studied the papers, she groped blindly for the coffee and discovered her aim was way off. She tsked, picked up the coffee and started to take a sip when she noticed Jack staring at her. Her eyes were a hazel green and her skin was lightly dotted with freckles. Her beauty was not diminished by the annoyance that suddenly flooded her expression. "What the hell are you looking at?" She demanded, her accent New Yorkish. Jack felt his face turn hot from embarrassment. She was apparently in her mid-twenties.

"Cool it there, Teresa," Anthony warned playfully.

"Fuck you," she shot back.

Anthony just laughed. He looked at Jack and said quietly, "Don't worry about her."

"Like we don't have enough pathetic orphans around here," she muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jack watched a ripple go through the other people in the room, and they, much to his surprise, stood up and left the room.

Teresa shuffled her papers back into a stack and drained her coffee probably faster than anyone should have gulped down such a hot liquid. She picked up her papers and stormed out.

"What the fuck is her problem?" Jack finally asked, finding his voice.

"Who knows. Don't let her get to you. She's made all the girls cry, and I think some of the guys too."

"Uh, how come she talks to you like that?"

Anthony shrugged. "She's my superior, what can I say? Actually, she's my boss's daughter. His _only_ daughter. He has four sons. Well, had four. Now he had three."

"What happened to the fourth one?"

Anthony nodded. "Some other time."

Richard brought over two large oval plates almost overflowing with food. Anthony dug into his food and gestured for Jack to do the same.

The two of them ate in silence, but Jack wasn't really hungry. It was too early in the morning for him to feel really hungry. He ate his food partially and then pushed it aside. Anthony finished _all_ of it. He even drank the coffee and juice. Jack wasn't sure where he put all that food. He was quite a thin man, probably in his late thirties. He was clean shaven and had light brown eyes and professional-looking black hair. His skin was fair enough to signify obvious Italian blood.

"You barely ate anything," Anthony remarked, noticing for the first time that Jack's plate was almost totally full.

"I know. I'm not that hungry. Can we just go do whatever we have to do?"

"Sure. First you're going to get a tour of the mansion. So let's go."

First Jack was able to get a closer look at the horse stables. There were about six horses all together, and there was a large track around the stable, so large, that the two men at the opposite end of the track were only a couple of inches tall.

"We train race horses. Those two guys over there are the head trainers, the jockeys aren't around yet. They usually don't let us ride the horses, except on one day of the week, Monday. The horses get a little bit of rest from their training and well, they get a little leisure time. You wanna go look at the horses?"

"Not right now."

"Okay, let's go to the pool."

They walked for about five minutes, past the back of the mansion. There was a large porch with white pillars in the back, and some people sat on the steps with books and a stereo. Jack felt like this was a university campus. "Why are there so many people?"

"They are all recruits. Some of them stick around with us, others go out into the world and do their thing. When we need a favor, they're happy to help us out. See, we have people in politics, in corporations, businesses, even a person in NASA. We nurtured these people. We're the only family they have."

Jack felt more and more uneasy about the situation as they walked along. He didn't want to be indebted to anyone for their favors.

As they walked past the mansion, the edge of a short, white wall came into view. And then the glistening, aquamarine blue of the swimming pool. There was only one person at the pool - Teresa. She was not wearing a bathing suit, however. At a shaded white table, she was still mulling over those same papers, a long white cigarette in her mouth and her hand clutched in her hair. When she saw them coming she stood up from the table and shielded her eyes from the low morning sun. "Are you following me?" She asked.

Anthony waved. "Are you feeling okay now?"

She waved at the papers. "I would be if it weren't for these damn accounts." She glanced at Jack. "Do you mind? This is kind of a private matter that doesn't concern you."

Jack stopped in his tracks and nodded. "Why don't you go back to the porch and meet with a couple of the kids there?" Anthony suggested, but Jack knew it was an order. He walked away from the pool and watched as Anthony and Teresa talking quietly, looking down at the papers now and then.

Approaching the porch, Jack felt a little uncomfortable as more and more faces turned to study him.

There were three girls that together, all of them with text books. One of them was dressed like a boy, but it was impossible to hide breasts that size even with a giant sweater like she was wearing. The other two were pretty and young, probably only a year or two older than Jack. There were two groups of guys, one was pretty unremarkable, but the other group stood out like a flashing red siren to Jack. There was something innately evil about that group of three men, especially one of them. They had no textbooks, and they were all around thirty years old. The most malicious-looking one, had a cigarette in his mouth, and stared at Jack unwaveringly. Jack matched the intensity. No asshole was going to scare him in this place with a look. Well, except maybe Teresa. He put her out his mind for now. Jack ignored the others and walked right up to the three men.

"What's your name?" The evilest one asked, pointing his cigarette at Jack.

"Jack. What's your's?"

"Joe. This is Andy and this is Brutus."

Jack nodded. He wanted to ask several questions, but decided to hold back on them for now. But Jack didn't have to think of anything to break the silence. The other people on the porch stared at the four of them.

"Let's go somewhere a little more private, all right?"

"Anthony told me to wait here."

"It'll only take a second. I just want to ask you a question."

Jack looked back in the direction he had walked from and didn't see Anthony coming back from the pool. "Just a minute," Jack agreed, and followed Joe and the others into the mansion.

They walked into a den with a TV and a bear rug on the floor. Joe collapsed on the sofa and put out his cigarette on a crystal ashtray. "So where are you from?"

"I don't think that's any of your business."

They all sniggered like he had said something really funny.

"It doesn't matter if you talk like that to me. But talk like that to the wrong person and you might get your tongue cut out."

"I don't care, I don't like to talk much anyway."

Andy and Brutus hooted with laughter, but Joe sat there thoughtfully. Finally, Andy and Brutus quieted and stood there while Joe chewed the inside of his mouth. He asked off-handedly, "You ever killed anyone, Jack?"

Jack felt a chill go through his body. He suspected at that moment that Joe had killed numerous people, and savored all the deaths.

"No. Never."


	24. Grand Tour and New Clothes

_**Chapter 24 - Grand Tour and New Clothes**_

Jack returned to the porch to find Anthony chatting with the girls. Disappointingly, Teresa was nowhere in sight. She was still probably back at the pool. Anthony ushered Jack back into the house. "Let me show you around here. There are three places that you absolutely cannot go. There are several rooms upstairs. See this staircase?"

There was a large, symmetrical grand staircase leading up and branched into two. At the center was an enormous grandfather clock. It was all made of red wood, shining as though a fresh coat of wood dye had been applied recently. The walls above the stairs were made of vertical pieces of shiny, amber colored wood, decorated with paintings and two hanging deer trophies with lifeless eyes, smooth fur and elegant antlers.

"Come on, I'll show you where these three places are."

Jack followed Anthony up the dramatic staircase and took the right branch. Anthony stopped at the top landing and pointed down the dimly lit hallway. "This whole wing is off-limits to everyone. See this velvet rope? No entry past it. If you hang around on the staircase too long, that's bad too." Anthony went left and walked deeper into this hallway. Here is a bunch of bedrooms. People live here, and if you know them and they want to invite you in, they will." Anthony walked all the way down the hall to the last room. This one was unremarkable, but there was a sign that said "Private."

"This room, is even more off-limits to you. You enter this room, you're dead."

Jack frowned. "What's in here?"

"That, is none of your business. Remember. You're dead if you enter this room."

"All right. I got it."

"Just so you don't get any ideas, there are cameras and motion sensors in the ceiling lights."

"Why all the security?"

"Just don't come here, all right? I'm just warning you."

"Okay, okay. I won't even come upstairs."

"Good. Let's go. We're going to a tailor then we're going to get you some clothes."

After they were settled in the same black car from the night before last, Jack said, "Why do we have to go to a tailor?'

"Well, we're just getting some measurements. You never know when you need a custom-made tux."

"Is this all for real?"

Anthony looked at Jack and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, why? You don't believe me?"

Jack glanced out the window in an attempt to look bored. "I just don't understand why you're bothering with me. Do you know something about me? Do you know anything about my past?"

Anthony shrugged. "We pretty much let the past be the past. Why, is there something I should know?"

"No. Why did you choose me?"

"Most people whom we've chosen, well, they have something special. Do you remember that fat ugly broad that was sitting on those steps?"

Jack feigned surprise. "That was _female_?"

"That's real funny. Better not say that sort of shit around her, she'll break you in half."

"Yeah right."

"No really. She's a local women's weight-lifting champion. She's been bringing home the first place trophy since she was sixteen. She's twenty-two now. Smart girl too."

"Well, what did you see in me?"

Anthony frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know yet. But I've got high hopes for you."

Jack looked at him suspiciously. "What kind of hopes?"

"I'll let you know when the time is right."

"When will that be?" Jack demanded, starting to despise all these secrets.

Anthony looked sharply at Jack. Jack glared back, almost daring Anthony to do something just so Jack could feel the pleasure of retaliation. But Anthony said calmly, as he turned his head away, "You're not the type to get scared."

Jack realized that he was leaned forward, tense in his muscles. He breathed slowly and forced himself to relax. He sat back in the seat. But he didn't take his eyes off Anthony. "I'm not a puppet."

"No one said--"

"I don't care what anyone says," Jack snapped. "They're all liars. Everyone. Even you. Even me."

Anthony looked like he was about to speak but the car slowed down to a halt. He didn't look uncomfortable because of Jack and he didn't even use the fact that they had arrived at their destination as an excuse to sidestep him. But he looked at Jack and said quietly, "Everyone is a puppet." Then he changed his tone of voice into a slight mockery. "Even you. Even me."

Before Jack could respond with anything more than a stare, Anthony's door was opened and he stepped out, fixing his coat. A cold breeze dashed into the car and Jack slid over and out of the car. The chauffer shut the door.

"Rudy, be here in forty-five minutes, okay?"

"Yes, Sir." Rudy saluted casually and returned to the driver's seat. He drove off as Anthony guided Jack towards the door. It was a tux shop.

The entrance didn't reveal the coziness of the lobby. Inside were several tuxedos on bald-headed male mannequins. They were propped in corners in different positions, either striking a masculine pose or sitting down on a chair, or bending over in a gracious bow. There were indoor plants in the corners and two gray love seats flanking a square coffee table. The walls were made of wood, giving off the look of a log cabin in the winter. When they walked in a short fat lady started chattering in Italian and Anthony laughed and joined in, pecking a kiss on each cheek. The lady glanced at Jack and smiled welcomingly. She disappeared for a moment and came back with an old man, who was also Italian. He was almost completely bald with tan, weathered skin and a tape measure around his neck and a white pencil behind his ear. He didn't smile at Anthony, but it wasn't out of hostility. It was merely because he was a serious man, still an Italian male at heart. Anthony pointed up and down at Jack and the old man nodded, gesturing for Jack to follow. He muttered something to the old woman and she nodded eagerly and disappeared through a door behind the counter.

Anthony and Jack followed the old man, who walked into a room. There was another man standing there, whom Anthony apparently knew. They said their hellos and started to chat easily. The old man pulled Jack aside and whipped the tape expertly away from around his neck and started to measure Jack with incredible speed. The room was filled with spools of thread and bits and pieces of fabric. It was a terrible mess and Jack wondered how he kept things in order. The man jotted down measurements in the pad, spinning Jack around as he took measurements of his shoulders and spine. The man spun Jack around to face him and got a little too close to Jack's crotch. Jack jumped back, instantly irritating the man. He turned to Anthony and jabbered in annoyance, and Anthony laughed. "Jack, he's just doing his job."

Jack talked to the old man, even though he knew he probably couldn't understand him. "You touch my nutsack again I'll cut your fucking hands off!"

Anthony and the other man burst out laughing.

The old man talked to Jack in Italian, apparently telling him to hold still through his gestures, and measured the same area again, careful not to inflame Jack. He muttered something in Italian to Anthony and he laughed even louder.

"What did he say?" Jack demanded. The old man measured the length of Jack's legs.

"He said that you're probably queer, but haven't yet come out of the closet."

"What?!"

Anthony and the other man laughed. "Forget it, kid, we all know you're not queer. I saw the way you were looking at Teresa."

At the mention of her name the old man finally smiled, totally changing the expression on his face from sour or sweet.

Jack let his mind wander. After a little while longer the old man was finished with his work. Feeling dirty and molested, Jack followed Anthony to another part of the building, which was actually another store. It was a men's designer clothing store, full of professional, neutral colors. There was everything a rich stylish man would ever need here, everything from suits to ties to wallets.

"I am not dressing in these clothes," Jack said stubbornly.

"Let's just look around," Anthony suggested.

Jack complied grudgingly, but still refused to like anything in the store. Anthony, against Jack's wishes, purchased two of everything, all the dark colors in navy blue and black, and two shirts in white and off-white. He bought a snake-skin belt and a pair of shiny black shoes. When they tumbled out of the store with several bags, the chauffer was already outside waiting, and he opened trunk for them. Jack thought it was the cleanest trunk he had ever seen, with not a speck of dirt or grass anywhere.

After dropping the items in the trunk, they piled into the back seat and drove to another store, this one with a little more casual wear for men. Jack mainly bought some jeans and some T-shirts with weird symbols or letters that said nothing, but were pleasing to the eye. He also bought several pairs of socks and a pair of sneakers. At Anthony's suggestion he also bought boots, since the weather was going to get very icy soon. Jack also gathered a few black, and gray, hooded sweatshirts.

By the time they returned to the mansion, Jack's stomach was making noises. He was hungry now. The time was one in the afternoon. They day was cool and crisp, but definitely warmer than it had been lately. Far off, Jack could hear people laughing and splashes from the pool area.

They let the chauffer, Rudy, bring the stuff inside the house.

"Jack, he's going to leave your things outside your room. You can go put it away now or after a little lunch."

"After lunch."

When they walked into the kitchen, it was filled with the smell of meatballs and fresh bread. There were several people in there now, all eating something or the other. Jack felt his mouth water when he looked at a lovely golden brown panini sandwich on a plate on the island counter. "Does this belong to anyone?"

Richard shook his head, "No, Sir."

Jack gratefully grabbed it and sat himself down at one of the tables. Now none of them were empty, all of them occupied by a few people, or all the chairs were full.

Just when Jack took a bite, one of the people at his own table asked, "So what's your story?"

Jack was taken off guard for a moment, and stopped chewing. Finally though, he just shrugged. With his mouth full he said, "I don't like to talk about it."

The people giggled. "Why did you kill someone?"

The remark was supposed to be a joke, and Jack knew because they all laughed. It relieved him to realize that he didn't look like a killer, but the words were unnerving. He forced a laugh and exclaimed, "I wish!"

They laughed again.

The back of the dining area, had an entire wall that was made of three rows of panes of clear glass. One vertical column of panes was actually a door that led out onto a small, white tiled patio with two outdoor tables and chairs. His laughter died quickly when he saw Teresa walk in through that glass door, her hair soaking wet and her skin dotted with water. She was wearing a white towel robe around herself. "Let me get a grilled chicken panini, Richard, all right? I'm going out by the pool."

"Yes, Miss Teresa."

Teresa left through the door she came through, and stood with her back to the kitchen as she waited for her food. Jack was sure she was cold - he could see her shoulders shaking, but she still didn't want to be inside with the other people.

Richard finished in a few minutes and left the kitchen momentarily to give her the sandwich. She took it and walked back to the pool, which was elevated because of the grassy incline, but was in clear view of the kitchen.


	25. Set Up

_A/N: It has been a really long time since I updated, and I've probably lost some readers because of that. Hopefully you all still remember what's going on in this story. The next chapter, (Chapter 26) is really important. Probably one of the most crucial chapters in the pre-Joker's life._

_**Chapter 25 - Set Up **_

After lunch, Anthony left for other business, leaving Jack by himself. He returned to his room and put his new clothes away with distaste. Jack looked out of his window, which faced the pool, and noticed Teresa standing at the edge of the water. She was wearing a one-piece, dark green, low-backed bathing suit. Jack continued to stare at her as she dove gracefully into the pool and did a few laps. She was alone, and Jack wondered why she was in the water in the freezing cold, as well as why she was swimming just after eating.

Sure enough, within a short while, she staggered out of the pool, holding her side. She plopped down onto one of the plastic chairs and pulled the towel robe closed. Jack was sure she was cold. And it was a slightly breezy day.

After a few moments, Jack saw her get up and hastily walk back towards the house. Apparently she couldn't take the cold anymore. Finding an opportunity to look at her more closely, Jack grabbed a couple of towels from his own room and hurried back to the kitchen. He saw the butler still in there, but now he was cleaning, unaware of Jack's presence. Jack waited and watched Teresa, now running, across the grass towards the glass door. She threw it open and slammed it shut, making Richard jump. But he composed himself, and chided, "Miss Teresa, this is not healthy."

Trembling uncontrollably, she ran through the kitchen, right past Jack.

Jack followed her, the towels outstretched. "I saw you swimming," he called lamely.

She continued on, into the central hall that contained the grand staircase. She completely ignored him.

"Hey wait, I have some towels for you. You're dripping all over the place."

She started up the stairs when Jack grabbed her shoulder. "Don't ignore me," he warned, not amused anymore.

She shook from the cold under his hand, and he removed his hand, allowing her to turn. Her hands were clutched at her chest, holding the robe closed. Her lips had a bluish tinge, as did her fingertips. But her eyes burned with fire. She jabbed him angrily with her left finger. "Keep it in your fucking pants, all right? I'm not interested and I never will be!"

She snatched the towels from his hand and threw them down in defiance, then ran up the stairs and turned left into the off-limits wing.

*******************

Jack gaped after her, stunned but at the same time, liking her even more. She was totally different from Marisa. He never recalled her ever being so feisty. And Teresa's perception, and the blunt way with which she dealt her words, floored him.

"Hey come back!" He called after her, half-playfully. There was no reply.

Over the next few days, Jack found himself fall deeper into a hopeless crush that was probably going to lead nowhere. She was out of his league in a way different from Marisa. First of all she was about ten years older, and he was always rebuffed by her. Instead of his constant attempts to get her attention wearing her sturdy wall thin, it seemed to add more bricks to it, making it stronger.

Around eleven on a cold night that November, when it was not yet cold enough for snow, but pretty fucking cold anyway, Jack snuck outside and caught a glimpse of her standing totally naked by the pool. If that wasn't dangerous enough in the cold, still night, she raised her arms above her and dove into the water. He didn't understand why anyone would want to risk hypothermia on a regular basis, but maybe it was some sort of thrill for her. Or maybe she was just suicidal and was tempting Death.

Jack jogged to the pool after a few moments and barely saw her dark shadow gliding like a stingray under the water.

She rose back to the surface on the other end and gave a scream as she gasped for air. She let out a mist of water vapor and climbed out, water streaking down her gorgeous body. Jack saw a few towels nearby, but decided against offering her one, since it had gone so badly last time.

She hugged her body in the cold and walked over to Jack. She didn't seem embarrassed or even a little bit surprised. "I wondered how long it would take," she chattered through her teeth, the sarcasm not diminished by her shivering.

She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her chest, much to Jack's disappointment. "Why do you do this?"

"Don't you know how to respect a girl's privacy?"

Jack snickered. "Privacy? This is kind of a public pool, isn't it?"

"This is my house, you little prick. I can do what I want. This _is_ private property. Mine."

"I thought it was your father's."

"Just leave me alone," she muttered, pulling the towel tight around her body and she started to walk away.

Jack went after her. "What is it that you have against me?" He was a little frustrated. This hard-to-get game she was playing hadn't gotten old yet.

"You're just a kid who's going to end up some misdemeanor criminal, and if you're smart enough, a felon. I don't have time to waste with you."

Jack grabbed her shoulder. "Hey. I'm not a waste of time."

She shuddered and winced at the cold. "I'm not interested in getting nailed for statutory rape."

"How about just getting nailed?" Jack grinned and winked.

He half expected to get slapped for that last comment, especially since she didn't react for a while, but then she gave a little laugh. "Funny."

Jack shrugged. "I try."

She started walking, and quickly broke into a run.

"Hey wait!" Jack caught up to her again and stopped her. "Can't we just go on a fucking date or something?"

"No," she muttered and shook his hand off. "I'm freezing. I have to get inside."

"Why do you go into the water when it's so cold?"

She didn't reply but kept moving and rushed into the kitchen through the glass door. When Jack tried to get inside he discovered that she had locked it from inside. "Bitch," he muttered to himself and ran around to the front of the house, the way that he had used to sneak outside.

To his surprise, Joe and the same two buddies of his were standing outside, smoking on the unlit, grand porch. They stopped talking the instant Jack approached them, looking guilty and angry at the same time. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Nothing. Just wanted some fresh air."

Joe came closer and pulled in some smoke through the cigarette. The end of it glowed brighter. Joe narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Jack's stoic face. He raised his head without moving his eyes from Jack's face and scratched his throat. "You want to come with us?" Joe exhaled some smoke.

Jack frowned. "Come where?" Jack smelled the smoke on a gentle breeze.

"You can't tell anyone that you came with us."

"What do I look like, an idiot?"

"I especially mean Anthony."

"Fine. My lips are sealed."

Joe blew another cloud of smoke, this one right in Jack's face. "You're dead if you do, understand?"

"Yeah."

Joe narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "I got a job to do. If you do it instead of me, I'll give you fifty percent. Deal?"

Jack sensed this wasn't something small. "Fifty percent of what?"

"Twenty-five grand."

Jack remained still at the mention of the sum, wondering if he should agree.

"What do I need to do?"

Joe laughed and flicked the cigarette away. "Just follow my orders tonight. Just do what I say. And the money is yours."

Jack hesitated, but agreed. "Deal."


	26. Park Row

_**Chapter 26 - Park Row**_

Jack, along with Joe and his crew, piled into a modest, but new car from an enormous parking garage next to the mansion. It was large enough to hold six large cars, and all spots were full.

Jack sat in the back with one of them, and he couldn't remember his name.

Joe glanced back at Jack as they pulled out of the property at the gates. "You know, you strike me as someone with a lot of guts. I think you can do it."

Jack was curious about what was going to happen. He guessed they were probably going to rob a place. If Jack didn't chicken out, he'd get fifty percent of twenty-five grand. That was quite a hefty sum. Jack sure could use it. "What are we going to do?" Jack asked.

"You'll see. All you have to do is follow my orders. You're not going to wuss out on me, are you, kid?"

"No," Jack snapped firmly.

Joe gave a low laugh. "Good. Tonight you'll be a fucking _man_."

_What the hell does that mean?_ Jack wondered to himself.

On the way there, Joe became a little philosophical. "There is just one thing men do. It's just part of our nature. You know what that is?"

"Uh..."

Joe glanced back at Jack. Jack shrugged. "What is it?" He asked.

"Hunt, kid. Men, hunt. If you don't hunt, you're not a man. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"You ever hunted anything in your life?"

Jack thought instantly about his father. That was a successful hunt. "Of course," Jack replied coolly.

"Well, you'll understand better tonight what it's like to catch your prey."

"Okay..."

"We're almost there."

Within a minute or two, Joe parked the car in a dark alley, most of the lamps on the adjoining street were burnt out or flickering.

Joe got out and patted his pocket, illiciting a metallic clinking sound. "No talking," Joe commanded and led the way.

The street was totally empty, except for a stray dog shivering and whining near some trash cans.

Jack pulled his jacket closed around his neck, trying to stop the cold air from seeping under his clothes.

Joe stopped at an empty intersection and point left down the street. "That way is the opera hall. Do you see the lights?"

Jack nodded as he saw an eerie yellow glow about two blocks away. He could see cars move along the street, almost soundless because they were so far away.

"We're going to wait in this street, where my car is parked. Brutus and Andy are in charge of bringing the guy to us. I'll tell you what to do when the time is right."

"Okay."

Joe nodded for Brutus and Andy to move out and they disappeared on foot, separating and walking at different speeds and on either side of the street.

Jack and Joe returned to the car, and passing the alley where it was parked, they slipped into another one, this one very narrow and inbetween what looked like a condemned building and the brick wall of a project.

After entering the dark and musty-odored alley, Joe looked at Jack. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Are you scared?"

"No."

"You're gonna do exactly as I say?"

"What do I have to do, exactly?"

"When you have to do it, I'll tell you."

"Why?"

"Because sometimes you just have to follow orders without prior notification, that's why," Joe replied sarcastically. "Whatever I say, do it without thinking. If you can't follow orders, you'll never be anything. How do you think the military works?"

Jack was getting tired of hearing all this garbage about orders. "Just tell me what to do, all right? Who are we waiting for? Is he going to give us this money?"

"Something like that."

Slightly irritated, Jack sighed and followed Joe to a spot behind a dumpster so that anyone passing the alley could not see them crouched there. As a matter of fact, a person could walk right past them to the very back of the alley and not notice them, because it was so dark.

"Ah, this fucking stinks," Joe muttered and coughed.

Joe pulled a gun out of his jacket's right pocket and a silencer out of the left.

"What's that for?" Jack asked suspiciously. _A silencer? This doesn't look like a robbery._

"Protection," Joe replied easily as he checked the gun.

Not assured by the word, more and more convinced this wasn't a robbery at all, Jack fidgeted uneasily.

But Jack said nothing. He just sat there, not wanting to look like he wasn't a man of his word. He had told Joe he would follow any orders.

"What are we doing here again?" Jack asked, feeling the desire to run away. This was going to turn into a horrible crime scene and he didn't want to any part of it. He just knew it.

"You'll see," Joe replied savoringly. "If you're anything like I think you are, you'll enjoy it."

A car's rumbling began and grew louder as the vehicle neared. As it was parked just in front of the mouth of the alley, Jack noticed the lights were off to avoid drawing attention. Jack could hear a woman's pleading voice, but he couldn't hear what was being said. The front passenger door opened and one of Joe's buddies stepped out with a young boy. He had his hand over his mouth and a gun to his head. Jack swallowed uneasily as he watched two people step out of the back seats, an apparently well-dressed man and a woman in a long evening gown and coat. Her earrings glinted in the dim street lights as she shook her head and cried.

The other man stepped out of the driver's side and told them to get moving. They followed their son's captor into the alley, not saying anything, as the woman sobbed.

Jack moved as they entered the alley and Joe elbowed him viciously to keep him still and quiet. Jack rubbed his ribs and stared as the group walked past, closer to the dead end of the alley.

When they were almost at the back, the first guy, the one with the boy, stopped and let the boy go. The other guy held a gun trained on the man.

Jack couldn't see the expressions on anyone's faces - it was so dark. But he could see their silhouettes and saw one of the guys turn to look at Joe, who tapped Jack and helped him to his feet.

The woman issued a small gasp and backed into her husband, clutching her son. The man pushed the other two members of his family behind himself. "What do you want?" He asked, his voice trembled a little but he still managed to exude authority. Maybe it had something to do with the tux he was wearing or the deep timbre of his voice.

Jack lagged behind, wondering if he should leave the area _now_. He should never have come here. Now he could be found in connection to _two_ murder scenes, one a double homicide and another, maybe a _triple_.

_Fuck..._Jack thought. Joe turned to Jack. He pulled his right hand forward, palm up, and pressed the silenced weapon in his hand. "Kill him," Joe said simply.

The woman issued a cry of despair and tugged on her husband's shoulder. "If it's money you want, you can have everything." As though in response the lady pulled off her earrings and threw them down, followed by a necklace. But one of the guys snapped, "Stop that!" She jumped and stopped.

Jack looked at the gun and then at Joe. He had had his answer ready. "No."

Joe's eyes grew cold and he clenched his teeth. "Kill him," he muttered.

Jack looked at the gun and then the group huddled there.

Joe suddenly lashed out and strike Jack on the side of his head. "Do it, you fucking pussy! We don't have time to waste!"

Before Jack could retaliate, or even react, the man said, "Don't do it, Son."

Jack rubbed his head and looked at the man, whose face he couldn't really see. He may have had a moustache, he wasn't sure. Jack was just stunned at the fact that the man was more fatherly in one fleeting moment than his own father had ever been during his whole life put together.

Joe grabbed the gun out of Jack's hand and shoved him against the wall. "I'll deal with you later," he snarled, and without another moment's pause he unloaded two shots into the man's chest.

The woman screamed, high and loud, horrified. The boy screamed in the same, high-pitched and terrified way, "Dad!" The cries echoed upward.

The man staggered and groaned, but didn't fall. Joe shot him again in the leg, and this time the man went down with a cry of pain.

The lady screamed again and clutched her son near, trying to hide him from view. But the boy, who must have been only about ten years old, tore himself away and fell on his knees. "Dad!"

She crumpled down and wailed, even louder than her initial scream.

Joe snapped, "Shut up!" The he turned to the two guys. "Let's go."

The woman gave a throat-tearing scream again, and Joe turned and said, "I told you to shut up." He shot her twice in the chest, instantly silencing her.

"Mom!"

"Shut up or you're next!" Joe warned. He walked closer and the boy cringed away. Joe bent down and scooped the jewels that lay on the ground. He went to the woman's side and pulled off some rings and a bracelet, then pocketed them. He went to the man, who stirred as Joe went through his pockets and pulled out a wallet and a money clip.

Then he came over to Jack and shoved him to get him going, then ran out of the alley.

Jack stood there and stared as the boy pulled his mother closer to him and cried quietly. When Jack didn't move the boy looked at him once inbetween sobs, and continued choking and crying.

One of the guys returned to Jack and pulled his arm, snapping him out of his trance. "Let's go!" He urged. Jack looked at the guy and followed reluctantly. He passed one final glance at the boy then turned and ran out of the alley.

As they got into Joe's car, Jack heard the boy crying for help like a frightened lamb.


	27. After the Murder

_**Chapter 27 - After the Murder**_

When the car was a few blocks away, Joe turned on the lights, and Jack could see how crazily he was driving, the beams of light swaying and panning over the streets and frightened night creatures and even some pedestrians.

"What did you promise me asshole?" Joe demanded. Jack knew he was talking to him.

Jack didn't reply. He felt like a fool now. Why hadn't he just done it? He'd done it once before. No, twice. It had been a big mess. This time it was a clean shot. Not like a shotgun that splattered matter everywhere.

"_What? What!?_" Joe shouted, slamming the steering wheel.

Jack still didn't answer.

Joe swerved the car sharply to the left around a corner, and Jack and the other guy in the back seat were not wearing seatbelts. The guy in the back slid over and crashed into Jack. "Chill, watch it man!" He slid back to his side and grudgingly put on his seatbelt. Jack did nothing, except hold onto the handle above the door.

Jack sensed a beating along the way, so when Joe was stopped impatiently at a red light, blaring the horn because he couldn't sit still, Jack threw open his door and fled, running almost a half-a-block before any of them got out and started to chase him.

Jack picked up the pace, using his long, powerful legs to carry him swiftly away from the other two guys.

Within another block he could no longer hear any footsteps, and Jack found a corporate building to hide under - in the parking lot. He slipped under the red-and-white bar to stop cars and discovered that there were still some cars around. Retreating to the most inconspicuous corner of the garage, Jack sat down on the icy concrete to catch his breath.

Not too far off in the distance, he heard several sirens shrieking in panic. Jack suspected someone had called emergency services after the murders.

He remained there for long enough to be sure that they had given up the chase and left. Then he got up and wandered around a little, finding the vicinity of the where the murders had taken place. There were cops and forensic crews swarming the area, having erected portable lights and every few seconds there was a flash of a camera. Vehicles crowded the road and a couple of men rolled out two gurnies from an EMS van. Jack crouched down and watched them bustling at this late hour. After the men rolled the gurnies out of sight, they rolled them back out of the alley, topped with dark body bags, one on each one.

Jack stared at the bodies in morbid fascination until he could no longer see them. The doors of the EMS van were slammed shut and they drove away quietly. No sirens.

Jack turned his attention to the back of a police truck. The young boy sat looking shell-shocked. There was a man who looked to be about forty who stood next to him and tried to appear to be talking to him. A badge that hung around his neck glinted in the lights.

There was another man, probably about fifty, sporting a thin white moustache, wearing a winter hat, dark coat and scarf. He stood closer to the boy, almost like a guardian.

The officer kneeled down and pressed the boy with questions, which were answered only by silence. Finally the older man stopped the one kneeling with a hand. "I think Master Bruce has had quite enough for one night," the man remarked firmly. Jack heard that he had an English accent.

The other man sighed and shook his head. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Would it be possible to come down to the station tonight?"

"Absolutely not. Master Bruce needs his rest. Perhaps tomorrow morning, bright and early."

The other man showed a trace of impatience. "Well, we have to have the questioning when his memories are fresh. Otherwise he's going to forget a lot of things."

The older man took Bruce's hand. The boy flinched a little but recovered and stood up, huddling close to the man. "You're just going to have to overcome that on your own, Sir. Goodnight."

"Let's ask the boy, okay?" The officer asked and looked at Bruce, almost pleadingly. "Would you like to come to with us to answer a few questions? We have donuts and TV."

The boy shook his head. "I want to go home," he murmured, so quietly Jack almost didn't hear him.

The officer sighed and put his glasses back on. "All right. Okay, fine. Goodnight to you both. Please come to the station tomorrow. Is nine okay with you?"

"Excellent, Sir. Goodnight." The man in the hat put an arm around Bruce and guided him to a nearby, shiny black car. He helped him get inside the back and gently shut the door. Then he retreated to the driver-side door and drove away.

Jack wondered who this boy was. Bruce. He sat and watched the group of people bustle for a while longer at the murder site and then everyone packed up and left. Jack went back to the alley where those people where killed and studied the ground for traces of blood. The alley was closed off with yellow CAUTION tape. Jack ducked under it and walked to the back of the alley. He found nothing except pools of water and the scent of some sort of heavy-duty cleaning material, like bleach.

He thought of the boy, and then wondered what it would have been like to have a father like that dignified man. Now that boy's father was killed for twenty-five thousand dollars. Jack wished he had been afforded the chance to revisit his own father's murder scene. After standing there for a few more minutes, staring down at the black, wet concrete, Jack turned and walked away.

He couldn't find his way back to the mansion. Jack ended up curling up in an empty train station terminal for the rest of the night.

Anthony had not offered any contact phone numbers.

The next day, Jack awakened to find groups of people standing around and waiting for trains or buying tickets, sipping coffee and eating donuts. Jack sat up and yawned, drawing stares and curious chuckles. Getting quickly to his feet, Jack hurried out of the train station into the frigid morning breeze, rubbing his eyes and face. How was he going to get back?

He continued to simply walk along instead of standing there looking suspicious. He ruffled his hair to fix any flattened areas from sleeping. His fingers got caught in tangles. He had not had a haircut for months now. His hair was touching his shoulders. Tucking back locks of brownish gold behind his ears, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and hurried along.

This street was very busy was morning traffic, so much so that cars were sometimes forced to stop in the middle of the intersection. After a while, Jack grew tired of weaving through pedestrians, so he eventually turned into a quiter street. Much to his dismay, he discovered this was the same street he had taken to escape Joe and his friends the night before. Mumbling an obscenity, Jack turned and walked in the other direction. After walking about two blocks, the traffic died down tremendously, and only one or two cars passed every few seconds.

Still wondering of different ways he could find his way back, without asking someone for directions, Jack heard tires squeal ahead of him.

Jack snapped out of his thoughts and looked up, and discovered probably the most unpleasant thing that could have happened in that moment. He recognized Joe's car hurtling down the street right towards Jack. Apparently Joe didn't care about driving well, or at the very least, his car, and the wheels jumped onto the curb. Jack threw himself out of the way, into the driveway of some large building. The car screeched to a halt and Jack took off running. The driveway sloped downwards. It was dimly lit, split into two lanes. When Jack continued to run without looking back he heard the car's echoing squeal as it started up again and raced after him.

Jack turned a smooth corner and found an empty parking lot with no other way out. Chest heaving, he stopped running and and searched for a weapon. The car screeched again and stopped, and the smell of burnt rubber entered Jack's nose.

The two in the back stepped out first, before Joe. When Joe stepped out he was smoking a cigarette. He had dark circles around his eyes, and his eyes were bloodshot, giving him a wild look because of the intensity of his anger. "Did you tell anyone?"

Jack looked at all three first, then shook his head. The others looked tired as well. Jack suspected they had been looking for him all night, circling the vicinity in which they had last seen Jack.

Joe walked over, and the other two followed closely. "You better not be lying," Joe breathed smoke into Jack's face.

Jack closed his eyes briefly against the acrid odor and muttered, "I'm not lying."

Joe walked closer. He was a few inches taller than Jack. "Nice jacket."

Jack was a little confused by the sudden and irrelevant comment, but not for long, because Joe took the cigarette and put it out on the chest of Jack's jacket, leaving a wisp of smoke and a small dark hole. Jack clenched his jaw and forced himself not to look at the spot. Joe chuckled deeply and dusted the spot he had just burned. "My bad."

The other two guys laughed. It was obvious to Jack that Joe was trying to get a reaction out of him, preferably a violent one. But Jack was not a fool to take on three grown men single-handedly. He stayed his fists, determined not to give in.

"Give me your money," Joe ordered.

Jack hesitated for a moment and pulled out his wallet. It was actually totally empty except for a little bit of change. Joe took a look and started laughing. He tossed the wallet down and ordered Jack to empty out his other pockets.

Jack had completely forgotten that he had his switchblade in his right jacket pocket. When he felt his hand close around it, he stopped. This had not gone unnoticed by Joe. "What is that?" He demanded instantly.

Jack made no reply and also refused to pull it out.

Joe shoved Jack without warning, and he stumbled and lost his balance, falling on his butt. Before he could raise a hand to defend himself, Joe smashed a fist right into Jack's nose. He gave a cry of pain as his head flew back. His hands jumped to his nose and Joe dealt him a kick to the side of his head. Jack felt the shock blur his vision, and he almost felt his brain move inside his skull. Pushing him all the way to the ground, Joe dug into Jack's right pocket and pulled out the switchblade.

"Were you going to use this?"

Jack opened his eyes, his vision still double. He saw Joe flash it open and wave the blade in front of Jack's eyes like a knife thrower brandishing his weapon. Jack felt uncomfortable with a knife so close to his face, but his anger flared at the most inappropriate time. "Fuck you," he sputtered through blood. His nose poured blood, and it ran back into his throat and down the sides of his face as he lay there. He coughed and swallowed, almost gagging on the taste.

Joe tsked and bent closer, gripping the back of Jack's head and sticking the knife into Jack's mouth. Jack stopped moving and felt more blood fill the back of his throat. If he couldn't swallow soon he wouldn't be able to breathe. But he couldn't move his mouth with the knife inside.

Joe turned the knife and nicked Jack's tongue. "You'd better watch your mouth or I'm going to have to cut your tongue out."

Joe suddenly relented and ordered the others to put him in the trunk of the car, and they complied quickly.

Jack felt a wave of nausea hit him as they shut the trunk. He moaned and spat blood.

His head started to pound along with his nose, and the nausea only heightened as the car swayed over the road as Joe drove.

When he felt like he was going to hurl, the car stopped at a sloping angle. Jack rolled to the back of the trunk. In moments the trunk flew open, sunlight beaming down harshly on him. Jack gave a small cry and shield his eyes.

Some hands grabbed him out of the trunk and dragged him across the grass.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" A woman's voice demanded angrily.

"Mind your own fucking business," Joe snapped gruffly.

Jack finally raised his face and squinting in the sunlight, saw where he was. The cool blue pool glistened and a woman stood with her feet apart and hands on her hips.

"You can't put him in there! He's barely conscious!"

"Watch us," Joe challenged and Jack felt a kick in his back. The hands let him go and he could do nothing to stop himself from tumbling down and splashing into the freezing water.

Everything was plunged into a gurgling silence. Jack groped blindly for a wall to help him back to the surface. He heard laughter and the woman screamed, "You assholes!"

Jack finally touched a wall, but felt himself sinking. He kicked his legs weakly. His clothing was weighing him down. He couldn't move freely.

He let a bubble of air go up and he felt someone grab his arm and pull up. His hand was guided to the edge of the pool and Jack held on tightly. With his other hand he wiped his eyes and opened them.

"What the hell did you do?" Teresa demanded.

Jack coughed in reply and used the edge of the pool to wade to the ladder. He shuddered and hefted himself up the ladder. He felt like there were bricks tied to his arms and legs. When he was out of the water he let himself fall to the ground. He saw drops of blood and water fall in front of him.

"Come on, you need a doctor."

Jack shivered, feeling as though he had no physical strength left.

She went over to him and pulled his jacket off, letting it sit there beside him. He watched her as she walked over to a table and grabbed some towels. She tossed them down to him and dusted her pant-suit. Jack picked up one of the towels and dabbed his face. He was shocked to find an imprint of almost his whole face come away. He wiped his face some more. His fingers moved lethargically, half-numb. "Fuck, it's cold," he chattered. "You're insane for swimming in this."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Well, I'm not the one who almost drowned."


	28. Doctor's Visit

_**Chapter 28 - Doctor's Visit**_

Wrapping towels around his shoulders, Jack followed after Teresa. She walked briskly towards the mansion, but turned and led the way to the garage.

"Where are we going?" Jack asked, holding a towel over his nose to catch the blood.

"To my doctor."

Jack stopped. "I can't go to a doctor. I can't explain all this to him."

"Her. And don't worry," Teresa paused and added quietly, "She isn't the type to ask questions."

Jack resumed his walking again. "What do you mean by that? She isn't unlicensed, is she?"

Teresa laughed. "No, nothing like that. She's perfectly legit. Just relax, okay? She's not the curious type."

She walked to a white Lexus and pressed some buttons that were mounted under the handle of the driver-side door. The locks clicked open and Jack opened his side.

Jack was surprised to find a huge mess in the passenger seat.

"Sorry. I work a lot." Teresa climbed in and hefted several files and papers and tossed them into the back, adding to the appearance of chaos in the whole car. The light in the ceiling of the car showed pant suits and clothes hanging from hooks above the backseat doors. "I have a blanket here somewhere." She dug around in the back and pulled out a crumpled cashmere blanket and handed it to Jack. "The drive is kind of long. Do you want to change your clothes first?"

"No. Someone might see me inside. Let's just go."

"I have some workout clothes in the back of you want to change into those."

"I'd rather not wear spandex and lycra, thanks."

"They're not my clothes. They're men's clothing. They're clean and dry."

_A boyfriend's?_ Jack wondered. "Okay."

She popped the trunk without getting out of the seat and Jack helped himself to a pair of trackpants and a sweatshirt.

He considered asking to change privately, but he figured it didn't matter. He had already seen her naked. It didn't matter if she got a peek. Actually this was a perfect opportunity to see if she was interested in him.

Not trying to hide his nakedness, Jack easily and boldy pulled off all his clothes. He toweled his body and privates exaggeratedly and then pulled on the dry clothes, the whole time passing glances towards the rear-view and side mirrors, although he couldn't really tell if she was looking because the garage was poorly lit.

When he returned to his seat, he was disappointed to find she was reading some typed material and making notes. Maybe she _did _have a boyfriend.

"You can just leave those wet clothes on the ground. I'll tell Richard to get them for you."

Jack did as she suggested and dropped the clothes on the ground beside his door, and then shut his door. He had a bloody towel around his shoulders, and he used it again to press against his nose. The bleeding has slowed somewhat. He used another towel to dry his hair.

She started the car and turned the heat on, and trained the vents on Jack. "Do you feel warmer now?"

"Yeah. Thanks a lot. You know. For saving me."

She waved her hand. "You weren't actually going to drown. You were almost to the surface yourself."

"Didn't feel like it." Jack paused for a moment. "You know," Jack started, and grinned behind the towel. "This isn't the first time a beautiful woman saved me from certain death."

She smoothly ignored the flirty words and asked, "What the hell did you do to make Joe get so pissed?"

"You don't want to know."

Teresa shrugged. "You're probably right. I have enough problems."

"What kind of problems?"

"You don't want to know."

Jack shrugged and took the blanket to pull around his shoulders. Warmth was finally beginning to settle into his fingers and toes. His feet were bare, and he had left his socks and shoes behind at the garage.

"So, what kind of work do you do?"

"I'm in charge of a lot of different types of accounts. I work with lawyers and financial advisors a lot."

"Sounds fucking boring."

"Trust me, I wish it was."

"Is that why you're so stressed out all the time?"

She laughed coldly, a sound that was profoundly chilling because of her mildly husky voice. Jack sensed a darkness similar to his own within her at that moment. "I don't think you know what 'stressed out' is."

She looked put together on the surface, except for her exceedingly short temper. Jack mulled over her words and wondered what secrets she was hiding.

"Let me swing by this pharmacy and get you an ice-pack. Do you want some pain medication or anything to eat?"

Jack realized he was actually enormously hungry. "Yeah, that sounds great."

He waited in the parking lot while she left and returned in about ten minutes. Getting into the car, she dropped a two bags on his lap, one from the pharmacy with the ice-pack and water and medicine, and the other a hot Italian meatball sub. He could taste the sandwich with his open mouth. "Thanks a lot," he muttered.

"Is your nose still bleeding?"

Jack checked the towel. "A little. Not as bad as before."

Jack opened his visor and checked his face in the mirror. The areas around both his eyes were blackened and his face was encrusted with dried blood. His eyes widened in shock. "I don't even look like myself!"

"Of course not. Your nose is swollen to twice its size."

Jack felt embarrassed and ugly. He was grateful for the towel. "I hope there isn't permanent damage," he remarked dully. He didn't have any money for surgery. All he had was his looks.

"If you get to a doctor in time there won't be any damage."

"How would _you_ know?" He asked scornfully.

She looked as though she was caught totally off-guard and she didn't reply for several seconds. Finally she seemed to mentally shake herself and said, "I know."

"How do you know?" Jack asked again, more inquisitive this time.

As she pulled out of the parking lot, she muttered, "Stop asking me questions."

************************

Her mouth was set in a firm line as she drove, and Jack decided to just drop the subject. He pulled out his sandwich and started to eat, but not without offering her some. She shook her head.

Jack was disappointed that their banter had stopped. He probably shouldn't have asked her a second time. Now she was upset.

When Jack polished off the last pieces of the sandwich, he washed down a couple of Tylenols with the water. The pain was dull and started to set in. His head pounded from where Joe had kicked it. That part of his head had bled minimally and stopped long ago.

Then he pulled out the icepack, which had condensed a little, and wrapped it in one of the towels that lay around and pressed it to his nose. He winced at the cold when it seeped through. He started to lay the pack back down, but she said, "Keep it on there. It will help with the swelling."

He obediently tilted the seat back a little and pressed the icepack back to his nose.

After about twenty minutes, they finally reached the doctor she was talking about. It was a small clinic tucked in a Hispanic neighborhood. There were a lot of people. Jack felt like he had gone south instead of north, skipped the border and crossed over into Mexico. "Are we still in Gotham City?"

"I told you to stop asking me questions," she snapped.

"Oh yeah."

She parked the car on some dead grass and led the way to the entrance. There were several women inside, and only a couple of men. They were all Hispanic. She told Jack to sit down and he attracted some curious stares, and some downright hostile ones, too. Kids were the most curious, since he had a bloodsoaked towel to his face.

"Hola, Mami! Como estas?" The lady at the desk greeted Teresa warmly and Teresa talked back to her in Spanish and gestured once at Jack. The lady took a quick look and shook her head. Teresa signed a clipboard and took a seat beside Jack. "Now we wait."

"For how long?"

She just ignored him.

"Oh yeah," Jack replied foolishly.

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long. Teresa's connections allowed them to skip the line and head straight in after a couple of patients.

The hallway to the examination room was very cramped with boxes of patient files and lab tests. But the room itself was tidy.

"Hello, Teresa," the woman said pleasantly. She had a slight Spanish accent, and wore a doctor's coat. Her hair was short and dyed red, and her eyes were bluish-green. "You must be Jack."

Jack nodded. He understood now, why this woman didn't ask questions. She didn't _need _to ask any. She had one of the most penetrating gazes he had ever seen. She seemed to draw out his deepest thoughts to the surface. She patted the padded metal table. "Have a seat."

Jack turned away from the table and hopping back onto it.

"Have you ever had a nasal injury before?" She asked, studying his eyes, looking for lies.

"No."

"How did you get this?" She had a slight scolding tone in her voice, the type of tone she would take not with her own child, but perhaps a niece or nephew that misbehaved.

Jack was quiet and continued to stare at her with his own chilling gaze.

Unabashed, she rolled her eyes. "Okay, never mind." She eased the towel and melted icepack away and took a look. "Did you bleed more than this?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have trouble breathing?"

Jack took a small breath, and then when there was only a little pain, he took a deeper one. "Not really."

She studied his face a little bit more, turning it side to side once. Then she tilted his head back and used an instrument to look inside his nostrils. "I'm checking for septal hematomas. Blood clots. Don't worry, there aren't any."

Jack nodded as she put the instrument away.

"I'm just going to treat you for bleeding now. In a few days I want you to come back so we can take a look at the bones. But I honestly think that the most that may be wrong is displaced cartilage."

She pulled on some gloves and got to work. First she cleaned the area around his nose with alcohol. Then she placed rolled up pieces of gauze after moistening in a liquid into his nose and placed a splint across the bridge of his nose. "Don't touch this. That gauze is soaked in an antibiotic. Come back in about four or five days. My receptionist will schedule the follow up."

Jack nodded and hopped off the table to leave, but Teresa remained there, rooted to the spot. She was somewhere else, staring out of the window at a playground where kids were screaming and laughing.

The doctor cleared her throat and suggested that Jack wait outside. He passed a look at Teresa and went outside, closing the door behind himself.

He walked a few steps down the hallway to avoid hearing anything private. He _did_ feel inclined to eavesdrop - he couldn't lie to himself - but he knew it was probably wrong. Teresa obviously didn't want to share much with him. The thought depressed him a little, because he loved being around her. She was opinionated and thought he was funny when his comments were borderline offensive. Hell, they _were_ offensive.

As he waited, the doctor and Teresa walked out together and the doctor was holding Teresa's hands. In Spanish, she said something kindly. Her penetrating gaze was gone and she looked like some of Teresa's anxiety had rubbed off on her.

Teresa nodded. Her back was turned to Jack, and if he wasn't mistaken she was wiping away a tear or two. He cursed himself now for _not_ listening in on their conversation. He knew he should have, and now, he'd probably never know what was wrong. What could cause a person like Teresa to cry? She acted like a bitch most of the time and was obviously proud of it. He would not have expected such abrasive behavior to be so fragile.

Teresa mumbled thanks and gave the doctor a hug.

Teresa wiped her face again and sniffed, then turned and walked towards Jack without so much as a glance at him.

Jack looked at the doctor and waved goodbye, and followed after Teresa.

She told Jack to wait there as she went outside to get her purse, then pulled out a credit card to pay for Jack's medical bill.

When the receptionist handed Teresa the receipt she said to Jack, with a heavy Hispanic accent, "Keep an eye on her, okay? She's a good lady."

Jack frowned a little and nodded. Teresa waved an unenthusiastic and distracted goodbye to the receptionist and tugged Jack's shoulder. "Let's go," she muttered.

When they were settled in the car, and ready to pull out onto the road, Jack asked, "What's wrong?"

Without missing a beat she replied flatly, "I told you to stop asking me questions."


	29. Busted

_**Chapter 29 - Busted**_

They spent the drive back to the mansion in silence. Jack used the visor mirror to clean off any dried blood from his face with one of the towels and the bottle of water Teresa had purchased from the pharmacy. When she parked in the garage in the same spot as before, Jack noticed his clothes still sat there in a cold, wet pile.

He picked them up and followed Teresa into the mansion. The follow up visit to the doctor's was scheduled to be in five days. Teresa reminded him to be ready and waiting in the garage at one in the afternoon that day. Jack nodded in agreement and watched as she dissappeared from sight into the depths of the mansion.

After a few days the swelling had diminished enough for the splint the doctor put on his nose to become loose. The day of the second visit, the doctor applied a local anesthetic and eased the cartilage back into place. She suggested he take over-the-counter pain meds and put ice on the nose to help with swelling. His nose looked properly aligned again, even if it was a little swollen. The bruises under his eyes were beginning to turn a poisonous bluish-yellow. Somehow, he looked worse than when he had originally sustained the injury.

The doctor told him to come back if he had trouble breathing or didn't used to snore before, but now did, or if his nose looked different than it did before.

Teresa was quite morose recently, not talking much, and deep in thought. He tried several times to get her to talk, but her answer was the usual one.

While his nose was healing, Jack attempted to try to find the spot where he had lost his wallet. He couldn't leave that lying around. If he was named a fugitive in Florida, sooner or later, if he had identification lying around, someone would find it and report him to the authorities. By a stroke of luck, he saw a newspaper article that named the street where the Wayne family, except for the boy, Bruce, was murdered. The article went on to give a lengthy obituary of one of the greatest doctors and philanthropists to ever grace Gotham City's medical and financial frontiers.

Jack hunted down a map of the city, a train schedule, and a bus schedule. He used all three to get him to the street, which was called Park Row. From there he wandered around and eventually saw the building where he had spent the night, and then walking about two or three blocks, he found the building where he had had his nose broken in. He walked under the building to the parking lot, and found it filled with shiny, expensive cars. There was a guard, a black man in a dark security uniform, that stared at him from a booth as he walked in, and nodded at Jack.

Jack walked over and said, "Did anyone find a wallet here? My name is Jack Napier."

"Yes." The guard nodded as Jack felt a wave of relief. It was painfully short-lived. Then he shrugged. "You're going to have to go to the police station to get it back though. It's ain't here."

"What?"

The guard said seriously, "You know, security cameras caught you and your boys that day."

Jack froze for a moment, his insides going cold. "Uh... And you called the police?"

"Of course. They dragged you and put you in the trunk. You could have been dead or about to be killed. They're still investigating."

"Fuck!" Jack hissed.

"It's good to see you're all right, Kid."

"I wish they _had_ killed me," Jack muttered, more to himself than the guard. Jack received directions from the guard to the Gotham City P.D. headquarters and left.

He took a couple of buses to get to the area, and then walked about four blocks to get to the building.

He walked into the lobby and saw several people seated in the waiting area and two or three people in uniforms attending to people's needs. He was about to go to one of those reception desks when he saw some composite sketches. Jack walked over to the drawings when he realized one of them looked a hell of a lot like Joe. Then his blood ran cold for the second time that day when he saw his own face, complete with broad, well-defined jawline, brooding eyes and long hair that hung to his shoulders. He saw a metal detector a couple of feet further into the building. The detector station was not being manned at the moment.

Lowering his head, Jack strode back towards the door. Just as he put his left hand on the handle to push it open, someone called, "Hey."

Jack paused for a moment, but then kept going. As the door eased shut slowly behind him, Jack heard the same voice, "Hey you!"

Jack broke into a run as the owner of the voice came outside. "Hey stop!"

There were some cops standing around, smoking or taking breaks, their walkie-talkies crackling on and off and male and female voices uttering codes and commands. They looked at Jack curiously as they heard the man yell for him to stop. "Hey Adam, catch that kid, will ya?"

Whoever was Adam sprung into action. He vaulted over a curb and a patch of grass, as Jack crashed into a car in the driveway that has slammed on the breaks. But he couldn't go any further. The people inside the car - two cops - opened their doors and block Jack's way. Adam quickly caught up to Jack, who had come to an unagreeable standstill. He glared at the two cops who'd foiled his escape. "You fuckin' crazy?" One of the cops demanded.

The initial guy who had called to him finally caught up. He was heavyset, probably because he spent most of his time eating and sitting at a desk. He wheezed heavily. "He looks like...that kid."

The other cops all looked at Jack scrutinizingly and exchanged nods.

A cop car had pulled up behind the one which had blocked Jack, and the driver honked the horn. "Come on, let's go!"

Adam came closer and addressed Jack. "You going to run again?"

Jack remained silent, wondering what would happen now. He still didn't have a way to call Anthony. He was fucked. He didn't even have a way to call Teresa. Jack was sure as hell he would run again if given the opportunity.

"No," Jack lied easily.

"He's lying," the driver from the car snapped instantly.

Adam shrugged and turning Jack around, cuffed his wrists in front of him.

The fat one and Adam escorted Jack inside the police department building and then into a brightly lit interrogation room. It wasn't as unpleasant as Jack had imagined; it just looked like a low-budget conference room. Jack sat in the chair Adam directed him to and sank down. Adam left, easing the door shut. It was totally quiet. Well, except for a clock on the wall. It had an abnormally loud ticking sound. Jack could have been holding it to his ear. There was nothing soft in the room either. Even his own chair didn't even have a patch of leather for comfort. Everything was rough surfaces and hard lines. Maybe this room wasn't so great. After a while Jack noticed there was no heat on in this room either. It was deliberately kept cold to add discomfort.

Jack was able to keep track of how long he was in that room. About thirty-eight minutes before two people showed up. Jack was actually colder now than when he was outside. Jack's back was to the door and it was the same man who had been urging the boy, Bruce, to answer his questions. The other cop was the same one who had called him a liar.

The first one, sat down across from Jack and put a file on the table. "I'm Lieutenant Gordon. This is Deputy Chief Schroeder." Schroeder handed Gordon something and Gordon put it on the table. It was Jack's wallet. Gordon opened it up and said, "So, may I call you Jack?"

Jack looked at his wallet, then picked it up. "Thanks," he muttered mockingly, and put it into his right side pocket.

"Security at the Oberon Corporation building showed us video camera footage of three men assaulting you. It's good to see you're doing okay."

Jack made no response. This man looked too kind to be a cop. He must have been around his mid-thirties. But his eyes were tired and old. He had a brown moustache with flecks of white and light brown hair with several strands of gray. He let his job affect him too much. He took on the pain of others like his own. Jack almost found it admirable that anyone would care so much, but then again it was decidedly pathetic.

Gordon didn't look disappointed by Jack's silence. "Schroeder, could you get us a couple of coffees? It's freezing in here. Tell them to turn the heat on, if you don't mind."

Schroeder smiled and looked pointedly at Jack. "It's broken."

When the cop left, Gordon sighed. "The only survivor told us you didn't do anything. So you're safe. If you help us identify the others and locate them, no charges will be pressed against you."

Jack was quiet. Gordon opened up the file - which was surprisingly thick - and pulled out copies of the composite sketches. He lined them up on the table in front of Jack.

"We know you were there. Along with the victim's description, this drawing, and the video, we know you were there. You're only sixteen. Don't screw up your life."

Jack set his jaw and hardened his eyes. As far as Jack knew, his life couldn't get much worse.

Schroeder opened up the door and walked in with the coffees. He put them down. Jack didn't dare touch the coffee. He didn't trust Schroeder at all. Gordon, on the other hand took a careful sip of the hot liquid.

Jack's eyes wandered to the drawing of Joe. He wondered how the kid had remembered their faces so well, especially since it was so dark that night. Jack remembered how Joe had broken his nose, and how the blood had pooled inside his throat. Thinking about it made Jack feel a little uneasy. At least blood didn't make him feel sick enough to vomit anymore. Maybe he'd finally seen enough of it to get used to it.

Gordon tapped Joe's drawing. "He's the one that hit you."

Jack nodded.

"You probably deserved it," the other cop shrugged.

Gordon heaved a sigh of exhasperation and cast his eyes towards the ceiling.

Jack looked to his left and glared at Schroeder. His skin was a leathery red and his moustache was trimmed and coarse. He looked like the sort of men who were full of patriotic bravado, but in the end were just alcoholics that beat on their wives. And he definitely acted like one of those type of men. He was about forty-five years old.

"Did it hurt?" Schroeder asked. "Did you cry like a bitch?"

"That's enough!" Gordon snapped, putting out a hand to silence him.

"No."

"You said you'd let me handle this."

"I can't watch anymore. You're fucking useless at this, Gordon. Let a professional do his job."

Jack noticed that Schroeder was of higher stature than Gordon within the police department, and Gordon shook his head and got off the chair. Schroeder smirked and changed the lighting in the room to make it dimmer. There was a yellow lightbulb in the center of the ceiling and he switched it on, turning off everything else. The room turned from neutral to ugly.

Shroeder picked up the file like it was routine and flicked it open. "Let's see here. This is a pretty big rap sheet, Boy. Shit! November thirteenth, armed robbery. Assailant described as a teenaged white male, approximately sixteen to eighteen years of age, with long, light colored hair. About five-feet and ten inches tall. Wearing a black winter hat and heavy black men's jacket.

He flipped a page. "November seventeenth, armed _assault_ and robbery. Assailant described as a white male in his upper teens. Long hair, heavy black jacket, armed with a switchblade." He turned three more pages, reading key words out of the reports. "November eighteenth, twentieth, and twenty-second, assault and petty theft, mix-and-match. Assailant described as a young white male, long hair, about six feet tall. Armed with a knife.

"It gets a little more serious here." Schroeder tapped the file as he read on. "November 28th, accomplice, double-homicide, larceny, and leaving the scene of a crime. Accomplice described as a young white male, about six feet tall, long hair. Wearing a thick black jacket, jeans and sneakers. Armed with a pistol." Schroeder closed the file and looked at Jack. "Excuses?"

Jack just sat there. That _was _a long rap sheet. Jack knew it was even longer. Some people probably just didn't report it to the police. Some people he had mugged had only relinquished small amounts of cash because that's all they had. Jack finally forced himself to relax and cleared his throat. He ran his right hand through his hair, bringing his left hand up too because they were both cuffed together. "You don't even know if all that is me."

"All I need are for the people to come here and identify you. All of them saw your face. Bruce Wayne saw you." Schroeder picked up Jack's drawing. "This is you."

Jack studied the drawing and remarked again silently to himself how accurate the drawing was. It was like that kid could see at night. Jack felt almost like he was looking into a mirror. Finally he tore his eyes away from the drawing and gave Schroeder a pointed glance. "I didn't do anything."

Schroeder put the picture down. "Well, you're certainly right about that. That's why you have a chance to walk away. If you cooperate." He tapped the other three pictures. "Who are these men?"

Jack issued an abrupt laugh. "If I tell you, they'll kill me. Deputy Chief? Don't you have to be smart to get that position?"

Schroeder nodded and smiled. "That's right." He picked up the file and opened it up. "Anyway, like I was saying, you have a chance to walk away. From everything."

"I'm not telling you anything. They'll kill me."

Schroeder nodded like he knew Jack was going to change his mind. "Do you know what the maximum sentence is for kidnapping?"

Jack glanced at Gordon. He looked serious and almost mournful, with his eyes urging Jack to do the right thing.

Jack remained stoic and shook his head a little. "No."

"Let me try something else. Do you know what the maximum sentence is for one homicide? Two?"

Jack looked down at the drawings. "No."

Schroeder opened up the file and pulled out what looked like enlarged photographs. He brushed aside the composite sketches and spread out the photos. Jack looked away involuntarily at the sudden flashes of mangled flesh and enormous blood stains. His heart-rate sped up and so did his breathing. He swallowed and looked down at the pictures, bracing himself this time for details. They were extremely high-definition photographs, almost looking like the real corpses of his father and the woman who had saved his life. Pulps of skin and matter dotted the walls and lamp shades and pillows, and everywhere else was blood spatter or pools of blood. His father's face was unrecognizable. His eyes were half-closed and only the whites could be seen. The woman's face was emotionless, and her eyes were closed. She had died slowly, her chest soaked in blood as she suffocated.

After a long time of studying the pictures, even though Jack was not finished, Schroeder scooped them up and placed them back inside the file. He carried on nonchalantly, as though he had never stopped talking. "Listen you piece of shit, no one gives a rat's ass about your fucking father. But the Waynes are legend around here. The people want someone's ass for it. And it's not going to be mine." He pulled out the drawings again and placed them on the table. "So tell me. Who are these men?"


	30. John Reid's Nine Steps

_**Chapter 30 - John Reid's Nine Steps**_

Jack should have known it would happen sooner or later. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. After finally looking away from Gordon's pleading eyes, Jack glanced down at the neutral face of Joe. "I'm not telling you anything."

"Listen. We know this is you. We know you were there. We know you know things. Why don't you just make this whole thing easier on everyone, especially yourself and just tell us what you know?"

Jack shook his head.

"What are their names? How did you come to know them? They're all grown men. You're sixteen. Are you even in enrolled in school?"

Jack kept his lips sealed.

Schroeder waited a moment, exchanging nods with Gordon. Jack didn't miss this, and he watched as Gordon sat down on the edge of the table, next to Jack. "Is there an adult who can be here with you?"

Jack shook his head slightly.

"Why don't you drink your coffee, it's going to get cold. It might warm you up." Gordon's tone was gentle but Jack noticed his experience as a cop was finally showing. The earlier weakness Jack had seen was gone. Schroeder walked around and stood behind Jack, only inches away. Jack tried to get a glimpse of him with his peripheral, but there was no chance without turning his head. Even though Jack felt him standing there, he felt vulnerable because he couldn't see him. The cuffs didn't help. Jack moved his hands as far apart as he could, which was only about a few inches. He looked down at the cuffs. Then he glanced at the coffee. Weak wisps of steam wafted up and Jack nodded towards it. "Is it safe?"

Gordon nodded sincerely. "Don't worry, I don't trust him most of the time either," he said, looking at Schroeder as he spoke.

Jack reached his hands forward and picked up the foam cup with his right hand. Jack suspiciously looked inside, but it was just an innocent cup of black coffee.

"So, are you enrolled in school?" Gordon asked as he looked down at Jack sitting in the hard chair. "I noticed your license said Florida."

Jack looked at the table. "No."

"Were you enrolled in school in Florida?"

Jack nodded.

Schroeder walked around the table. The odd pacing distracted Jack, making him wonder what was going on, if anything. He watched Schroeder, who matched his gaze evenly, scrutinizingly.

"But you stopped showing up to school for a while, didn't you?"

Jack looked to the right at Gordon, who unassumingly waited for an answer, while Schroeder didn't break eye contact.

"Yeah, I stopped."

"Why is that?"

"I didn't care anymore."

"What made you stop caring?"

Jack adjusted himself in his seat. The hard chair was grazing against his bones. "Can I stand up?"

"No," Schroeder's refusal was instantaneous and cruel.

Gordon asked again as though nothing had happened. "What made you stop caring?"

Jack finally took a sip of the coffee. His face screwed up in disgust. Not a grain of sugar. He put the coffee back on the table. "Listen, I'm not going to tell you anything about what happened. Now let me get out of here."

Schroeder laughed. He came forward and rounded the table to Jack's left side. "We almost officially have you in custody. As we speak people out there are arranging for people to come here and identify you. One positive identification and you're in for a long night."

"Well, fuck you, asshole, I'm not telling you anything."

Schroeder put his hands up in mockery and looked at Gordon. "Oh I give up now." He smirked and walked to the spot behind Jack.

"Did you kidnap your friend Tim?" Gordon asked abruptly.

Jack was completely caught off guard and the moment he was, he knew it was already too late to lie. But he lied anyway. "No."

"But that does sound like something you'd do, right?" Schroeder asked from behind Jack.

"I'm not automatically going to incriminate myself. How stupid do you think I am?" Jack tilted his head down to the left and could see Schroeder's shiny shoes.

"You're at least stupid enough to get caught. No let me rephrase that. You're at least stupid enough to walk into a police station while you're wanted for association with murder. Does that sound about right?"

"But I didn't do anything. That kid must have told you."

"Maybe _this_ time you didn't do anything. But you _did_ do something."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"That means, in Florida, you did something. People don't just uproot their lives for no reason. Especially not young people like you."

"I could have just hated Florida, how would you know?"

"Maybe. That's possible, I guess. Except for the strange coincidence that two separate, _very_ serious incidents occured on one day, Halloween night, and both victims are related to you in one way or another."

"Maybe it's just what you said. Coincidence."

Schroeder tapped the back of Jack's chair and came around to the end of the table. Jack looked up defiantly at him.

"Did you know the Waynes before that night?"

"No."

"Had you heard of them?"

"Yeah."

"What did you think about them?"

Jack shrugged. "Nothing much. Just a bunch of rich people."

"Are you rich?"

Jack gave a him a sarcastic look. "What do you think?"

"Did that make you jealous?"

"No."

"Why not? You're not rich. You don't care about money?"

"It didn't make me jealous."

"How did you find them that night?"

"I just tagged along with these guys," Jack gestured to the drawings.

"How did you meet them?"

Silence. Then, "I'm not telling you that."

"All right. Did you get a sense of who was the leader in that group?"

"Yeah. It was him." Jack pointed at Joe's picture. "He is the killer."

"You were almost the killer, weren't you?"

"Not really."

"Well, why not? You had the gun in your hand didn't you?"

Jack halted himself to wonder if he would incriminate himself if he said, 'Yes.'

"Didn't you have the gun in your hand?"

Finally Jack sighed and stretched his back. "Yeah I did. But...But he took it out of my hand when I didn't shoot."

"Why didn't you shoot?"

Jack stopped talking as he relived the humiliation of falling into Joe's trap. But he couldn't voice the real reason why he didn't kill those people. "It was wrong."

"Wrong, really? You have some sort of rigid moral code?"

In this case both answers would have been wrong, no justification existed for his actions. So Jack just remained silent for a while. Then finally he spoke. "I didn't know what was going to happen. This guy," Jack pointed to Joe's picture, "told me I would just have to do as he said. He didn't tell me what was going to happen."

"Why did you go along with him if you didn't know what was going to happen?"

Jack hesitated. Finally he didn't relent the information. "I can't say."

"Why not?" Gordon spoke finally.

Jack just shook his head. "I just can't. They almost killed me the other day because I didn't shoot those people. If it was for... Someone was there to help me, but I think I could have died if it wasn't for that person."

"Who is this person?" Gordon asked.

"I can't say."

"Was it a stranger?"

Jack shook his head. "No. I know the person."

"What is his or her name?"

Jack shook his head. "Listen, I'm not telling you anyone's names or where they are. Just lock me up. I don't care."

"What have you got to hide?" Schroeder asked casually, shrugging.

"I'm not hiding anything, but if I tell you, they'll _kill_ me."

"We're offering you police protection and a chance to walk free."

Jack scoffed. "Police protection? And walk free from _what_? I didn't do anything. I didn't kill that kid's family. He did!" Jack jabbed violently at the drawing of Joe.

Schroeder nodded. "And who killed your family?"

Jack was getting frustrated. He wanted to pick up the coffee and throw it in Schroeder's face, staining his uniform. He wanted to jump out of his seat and choke Schoeder with the handcuffs until his face turned an even deeper red, then died. He wished above all else that he could just get out. He was freezing and trembling both from the cold room as well as the stress. He shakily evaded the question. "I'm here because you want to know about these guys. Why are you asking me about something else?"

"Because it's all related!" Schroeder snapped. "You killed your father, didn't you? And that other woman too?"

"You can't prove any of this!" Jack countered venomously.

"Oh, so you _did_ do it?"

"That's _not_ what I said!" Jack denied hotly, aggravated and ashamed by the fact that the detective used his words against him.

"You think all of us working at all the police departments, all around the country, are just a bunch of idiots, don't you? You think that we can't find a hair, or a fingerprint, or evidence at such a messy crime scene. Boy, did you make a mess. Do you know how long the cleaning crew spent in that bedroom?"

"You don't even know _when_ I left Florida. What if I left before my father's death?"

Schroeder shook his head. "Even if you did, there's no one to corroborate your alibi, if you even have one. Based on circumstancial evidence a jury could still convict you."

"They can't do that," Jack replied, although he wasn't actually sure if they could or couldn't.

Schroeder laughed. "You have more faith in the justice system than I do. And you're falsely accused, aren't you?" Schroeder asked the question in a patronizing fashion.

"I _am_ falsely accused."

"Sure you are." Schroeder nodded.

Jack sensed no sarcasm this time, but perhaps Schroeder was just really good at veiling it.

"Put me in a cell. Get me out of here."

Gordon slipped off the table and crouched down next to Jack, looking earnestly up at him. "If you can tell us their names, it would help us get them off the streets. You will be safer this way. In fact, we have to keep you in custody either way. We were faxed a warrant for you arrest from a judge in Florida. We're authorized to keep you here temporarily. If you tell us their names, by the time your bail is set, they will probably be off the streets, and you can get out and be safe."

"What if they're not?" Jack asked.

"We can move you to a safer location. If you are willing to give us their names, you become a valuable witness in this case. We will need you a lot more after this, during the course of the trial. God willing there is one."

Jack ran his hands into his hair and clenched his fists. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. "I'm a prisoner either way?"

Gordon nodded. "Yeah."

Jack heaved an enormous sigh and shook his head.

"Don't you think that boy deserves justice?" Gordon asked sincerely.

Jack knew he was more cold-hearted than most, but in this case, because he had seen the affected boy, he couldn't blatantly say no. He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess he does."

Jack sat there and stared for what seemed like hours at the drawings. He could feel pressure mounting, the cops' intense gazes burning into him. Betrayal was not new to him, and neither was it impossible for him to inflict it on someone else. That much had been clear when he had shot Marcy in the chest not even two months ago. Joe and his buddies hadn't looked too uneasy - in fact, they had been grinning and hooting - when Joe had kicked the crap out of him. Another betrayal. Jack didn't know why Joe hadn't killed the boy. This all could have been avoided. And Joe had been the one to carelessly discard Jack's wallet for someone to find. It was almost like Joe had set him up.

Jack looked at Gordon. "Okay, I'll tell you."


	31. Disposing of the Evidence

_A/N: J-Horror Fan, thank you so much once again for getting the word out about my story. If anyone reading this story has not yet read "Can't Get You Out of My Head" by J-Horror Fan 4-ever, (I seriously doubt it, but I guess it's possible) if you love yourself, and the Joker as played by Heath Ledger, you will read that story!!! _

_**Chapter 31 - Disposing of the Evidence**_

When Jack finished telling Gordon their names - and only that information - they relented their efforts to coax more out of Jack and let another person fingerprint him and get a photo. Even though Jack had told them the small scraps of information they wanted, he still refused to sign a statement. He felt like it was a trap to sign something.

After that Jack was led into an empty, eight by eight cell with a metal cot, and a stainless steel toilet and sink. It smelled vaguely of urine and vomit, poorly masked by the smell of disinfectant. Seven feet from the dull concrete floor was a square-foot, barred window with a metal grate on the other side of the bars. Jack could see the sky. It was an even shade of gray. They had taken his belt, shoelaces and jacket. Now, out of the cold of the interrogation room, Jack felt warmer. Beyond the bars of the holding cell, all he could see was another cell, and it was empty.

Jack sat down reluctantly on the metal cot. It was either that or the toilet seat, which he was sure would be riddled with all sorts of disease spreading microbes forever, no matter how much industrial strength cleaner they used.

Jack pushed aside the thin, dark green blanket and pulled the pillow closer. He laid his head down and turned onto his side, but quickly turned onto his back when the pillow started to smell like old urine. Despite the conditions, Jack felt drained both mentally and physically, and fell asleep quickly.

When he woke up again, it was dark outside, and if Jack wasn't mistaken, it was snowing. He got out of the cot as he stretched and walked closer to the window, watching the small white flakes floating on the gentle drafts of air in and out of view. Some even floated inside and fell on Jack's face. He'd never seen a snowfall before. He stood fascinated for a few minutes more. Then he turned his attention to his most urgent task. He needed to take a leak. Issuing a sound of disgust, he kicked the seat up with his laceless sneaker and unzipped his pants.

He was getting ready to turn on the grease-smudged faucet with his elbow when he heard men's voices. Jack washed his hands as he looked over his shoulder, waiting for the men to appear.

Jack felt relief flood his body when he saw Anthony on the other side of the bars. A cop opened the door and allowed Anthony to step in, then locked it again behind him.

Jack turned off the faucet and stood there with his hands dripping. He studied Anthony to see if he looked angry, but he really didn't. Anthony looked exceedingly calm, and Jack was beginning to get unnerved. He sensed this was how Anthony acted when he was beyond the state of mere anger.

Jack opened his mouth to say, "Uh...," but Anthony quelled him with a quick shake of his head. "Don't say a word," Anthony's voice cracked slightly. He pulled his gloves off and tossed them onto the cot. "Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?"

Jack opened his mouth again, but Anthony muttered, "Don't. Say. _Anything._"

Jack shut his mouth and waited for Anthony to speak again. But Anthony looked like his fury was making him speechless. Finally Anthony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, and finally opened his eyes. "Next time, ask for a fucking lawyer. Never forget that for the rest of your life, do you hear me?"

Jack nodded twice.

Anthony sighed and took his hat off. He ran a hand through his hair and started to pace in the tiny room. "We'll know tomorrow when there's going to be a bail hearing. Until the hearing you'll have to stay here. If it takes longer than a few days they might transfer you to juvy. If I can help it I won't let that happen. It's just a lot of trouble and extra paperwork. You're probably going to walk anyway." He stopped and looked at Jack. "We need to talk about some things, but not here."

Anthony picked up his gloves and knocked on the bars. "Hey, come and unlock this."

As he waited for the guard to return, Anthony pulled on his hat and pulled on the gloves. "For God's sake, don't say anything and ask for a fucking lawyer."

Jack nodded and watched Anthony disappear from sight. The guard slammed the bars shut with a clang and locked it.

The next day, Anthony visited Jack once again to let him know that he had pulled some strings to let the bail hearing jump up to the very next day. The bail was set at a whopping one hundred and fifty grand _without _the ten percent cash option. If it had been available, the ten percent cash option would allow Jack to walk free after paying only fifteen thousand in cash. The bail was set so high not for the Wayne case, but for all the other felonies and serious misdemeanors he had alledgedly committed, which the judge clearly believed Jack to be guilty of on all charges.

But because of Anthony, Jack was able to get out in just a little over a week. He was astonished at the bright white snow that covered everything, gleaming into his eyes. The air was a little breezy, and the chauffer held the car door open, admitting Jack into the dry warmth.

Anthony stepped in after Jack. He was still angry with Jack, but it had turned into a sulking anger. He did speak to him, but didn't offer him a tirade either.

Once they had arrived at the mansion, Jack grew a little edgy. Where were Joe and the others? Anthony didn't say a word about them, and this made Jack even more nervous. Finally he voiced his worry. Anthony bluntly told Jack that they were nowhere to be found since the media had their four drawings plastered to the TV and even inside several stores and gas stations. Jack found little comfort in this. What if they had skipped town? What if they were never caught? Would Jack have to spend the next few years wondering if they'd come after him for revenge? Would he have to sleep with his shotgun next to him?

Anthony mumbled something about leaving town for a few days on important business, stuffed a small wad of cash in Jack's hand, then disappeared into the mansion. Jack made his way to his room. His things sat as he had left them previously. Completely untouched. He locked his door and pulled out the shotgun. He checked to see if it was loaded, wincing at the clicking noises, then sitting completely still to check if anyone had heard the sound. When there was no sign that anyone had heard, he finished putting away the shells and shoved the shotgun under the mattress. He pulled out any of the soiled clothes from when he had killed his father back in Florida. Keeping his Halloween costume - because it didn't have large stains of blood, only small blood spatter - Jack gathered the rest of the bloodied clothes, mainly socks, and put it aside to shred and throw out. Then, to be on the safe side, he decided to get rid of everything in that duffel bag, except for the Halloween costume. He even decided to toss the makeup away. So when nightfall came along, Jack took his duffel bag and locking his bedroom door, set out through the kitchen door. It was locked with a simple door knob lock, and Jack simply turned it and stepped out. He checked around to make sure no one was around - the last time had gotten him almost totally fucked for life - and then jogged a little bit towards the driveway. Without actually setting foot on the asphalt, Jack jogged alongside the driveway uphill, towards the gates.

He was about three-quarters of the way to the gates when he saw two high-beams cruise past him, casting a long shadow of him across the grass. Jack checked over his shoulder and saw a car that looked similar to Teresa's coming uphill at a moderate pace. When it neared, it slowed a little bit. Jack realized it was Teresa's car, and waved. "Hey!" He said enthusiastically.

But although the car slowed down, it sped up again and drove right past Jack. Jack stopped for a moment and then started running. "Hey! Teresa! Stop!"

The car was much too fast for him, and even though he ran, she was already gone through the gates. As the gates closed and the back lights of the car swung away from view, Jack slowed down and walked the rest of the way to the gates. The guard there looked disapprovingly of Jack, but said nothing. He simply opened the gates and Jack stepped into the street.

As Jack walked along, he decided to dump the items into some type of body of water, and luckily there were several opportune lakes and harbors. After walking along for about thirty minutes, Jack had collected loose bricks and stones to weigh down the duffel bag at the bottom of the lake or sea. By the time he reached an empty harbor, he was panting with the effort of carrying the bag. The harbor was gently quiet with the lulling sound of lapping water and far off waves. There were several sail boats bobbing gently in the water. There were only a couple of lamps to light the start of the dock. Jack walked as normally as he could to the end of the dock - which was about a hundred-and-fifty feet long and completely dark at the end - then strained to ease the bag quietly to the floor. He gave a huff and loosened his coat. After resting for only a moment, Jack crouched down and pushed the bag into the water with a loud splash. He sat down with his legs dangling over the edge and waited for the water to calm back down. When he caught his breath, Jack stood up, his body feeling weak from carrying the duffel bag. But shaking it off, he walked back the rest of the way to the mansion.

When he entered the gates, the same guard raised his eyebrows in question. "Where's that bag?"

Jack glanced at him coolly. "Mind your own business."

*******************************

Over the next few days, Jack didn't see Teresa at all. He didn't feel comfortable asking, or even talking to, anyone else in that whole mansion. Their eyes followed him where ever he went, curious, yet icy, inquisitive yet judgmental. Jack couldn't stand their stares, as though they were carrion birds eyeing a dying beast. He didn't want them to know his secrets, he didn't want them to find small loose threads to pull at and make a hole in his life.

When Anthony returned a week later, from his important business trip, he looked tired and dire need of rest. He had stubble dulling his usually lively face and gray circles under his eyes. But Jack barely noticed. "Where did Teresa go?"

Anthony looked confused for a moment, but he replied, "Teresa left? She must have gone back home."

Now Jack was puzzled. "I thought she lived here."

Anthony yawned and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "No. She lives with her husband."

Jack almost choked on the words. "She's _married_?"

"Yeah. She didn't tell you?"

"No!" Jack was incredulous.

"Well, she is. Listen, forget about her. She's got too many damn problems. And she's about ten years older than you. There are a lot of nice girls around here. They come and go all the time. You'll find one."

Jack shook his head and tucked his hair behind his ears. "I had no idea she was married. I thought she maybe had a boyfriend."

Anthony laughed dryly. "If only. She would be a happier girl, maybe. Listen, we have to get you either enrolled at a school, or get a homeschool teacher."

Jack made a scornful noise. "No way. I'm done with school."

Anthony smacked Jack on the back of his head. "Now listen up. If you don't go to school, I'll throw you back out. Then if the cops get you, you'll be thrown into state prison for the rest of your life. You got that?"

Jack passed him a sulking glance. "Basically I don't have a choice."

Anthony grinned through his exhaustion and slapped Jack on the back. "Now you're learning."

---------------------

_A/N: Curious about what Jack might look like in his younger years? Go on Youtube and search for "Heath Ledger on Home and Away." That's an Australian soap. He looks exactly the same, but somehow different because he's about ten to twelve years younger than when he was in The Dark Knight. _


	32. Two Years Later

_A/N: Everyone, especially J-Horror Fan, thank you SO much for your reviews, they mean a lot to me. I love hearing from you guys!!! Thank you to all the new readers of my story! Hope you guys enjoy it as immensely as I enjoy writing it. J-Horror Fan, don't worry about Jack's scarring, it will be unforgettable. Well, to me it is, anyway. I can already picture the events in my head, it's just a matter of when..._

_On another note, I should have written this several chapters ago, but I forgot to add that Jack, before murdering his father, sneaks into his old room to retrieve to police report and medical files about his mother. So he has those in his possession the whole time. _

_**Chapter 32 - Two Years Later**_

Jack sat slouched to the side, his left hand braced under his chin, his elbow propped on the arm of the court's defendant chair. His heart pounded in his chest, silent to everyone but himself. He clenched the arm of the chair with his right hand. He stared at the standing juror with cold eyes. Inside he was hopeful. He was on his knees begging for good news, but outside he was icy and uncaring. The juror held a piece of paper in her hands and looked once at Jack. "On the charge of conspiracy to commit murder, we, the jury, find the defendant, not guilty."

Somewhere in the back of the courtroom, there was a whooping and someone yelled Jack's name. There was some mild clapping and a lot of laughter from one small group of people.

The judge boredly banged the gavel a couple of times, murmuring, "Order in the court."

Jack slowly released a sigh. But he was still tense. There was one more thing. It was November seventeenth and it was his birthday. He was eighteen. Criminal files acquired as a minor were sealed when the person reached adulthood. But his lawyers had told him, even though there was a chance of him walking out of the court with a clean slate, the chance was slim because of all the allegations against him, including the convictions of armed robbery and theft, and most of all, the kidnapping and the murders.

The juror sat back down and the judge flipped through some pages. He was a stern man with thinning white hair and rimless glasses. "Mister Napier, today is the day you turn eighteen."

Jack just looked at the judge and waited for him to continue. He felt ready to explode from the stress, but he kept it together. His eyes would have never revealed the internal turmoil. Most people's eyes betrayed them, but not his...

"You have managed to commit some horrible crimes. Of the two which you were accused of in the state of Florida, you were found not guilty of the murders. Now, whether you committed those murders, we'll never know. You professed your innocence throughout the case, and there was not enough evidence to convict you. However, you _were _convicted of kidnapping and breaking and entering. You were given the sentence of time served. Whatever the case might have been, I don't believe you wanted to hurt your friends. After that, here in Gotham City, you committed a variety of crimes, ranging from armed assault, to robbery, to conspiracy."

Jack sighed a little and rubbed his head. He nodded. He started to resign himself to the possibility of never losing his criminal file.

"However."

Jack looked up.

"However, I do believe that in the past, no one offered you a chance to correct yourself, thus leading to continued criminal behavior. Mister Napier, I will offer you that second chance and I hope you take it and make something of yourself. I hereby declare your record expunged." The judge offered a small smile. "Happy Birthday."

There was now more yelling and laughing in the back than before.

Jack finally relaxed in his seat, almost unable to believe it. His lawyer gave him a hard jab in the ribs and nodded vigorously. "Congratulations!"

The judge smacked the gavel down and said loudly, "Order in the court." When everyone was quiet, he said, "This court is now out of session."

The bailiff came forward and called out, "All rise for the honorable Judge..."

********************************

Jack could barely remember that night. Everyone had returned in pooled cars to the mansion and ransacked the liquor cabinet. Last he remembered a guy he knew only as Paulie was opening a fifty year old bottle of Scotch whiskey...

Jack woke up fuzzy-minded and blurry-visioned on the floor of his room. Moonlight fell across his chest and he stared at the night sky for several minutes, slowly coming awake. When he was finally able to move, he sat up slowly and dragged himself into his bed, glancing out of the window in the process. The pool glistened as always, but it was empty of course. There was only one person crazy enough to be in freezing waters in the middle of the night and she wasn't here. Jack hadn't seen her in all that time. Had it really been two years? He still thought about her from time to time, especially if he happened to see the swimming pool. During the summers it was bustling with people, who usually had Richard travelling back and forth from the kitchen to the pool to bring food. During the hottest parts of the season, a grill was brought to the pool and someone was always cooking sausages or hamburgers. Music was usually blasting too, especially at night.

Jack usually refrained from joining in with them, but maybe once or twice during the entire summer he would have a dip in the pool. Crowds made him anxious and he couldn't get used to the people that lived in that mansion. Jack was sure they were always talking behind his back, wondering if he was really a killer or not. Sure, he hadn't been convicted, but he had been a suspect. Also, clearly, some of them were reluctant to forget that he had once kidnapped someone at knifepoint. The general public didn't know his name or identity, because he had been a minor at the time, but everyone around the mansion knew. It was juicy gossip and now, two years later, an exhausted topic.

Over the two years, he had finished the remainder of his highschool education at a private school in Gotham. He didn't feel the least bit guilty about all the special treatment he was receiving, and he was sure that Anthony had bought off _some_one to get the "Not Guilty" verdict on Jack during the murder trial. Jack had asked Anthony so many times if he had done something using his Mafia connections, but Anthony always told him to put it out of his mind.

In the end, Jack had stopped asking, but hadn't given up completely. Everything was over now, and he was officially innocent of any prior convictions. This was because his file had been sealed.

The next day, Jack dressed in a crisp black shirt and jeans and brushed his hair. Over the course of the two years, he had grown a few more inches, tapering off at an imposing six feet and one inch. He had not gone to the trouble of cutting his hair short again; he discovered it was irresistable to a lot of women. But because he was trying to look a bit more clean-cut than usual today, he brushed it well and pulled it back in a ponytail. Dusting any stray hairs off his shoulder, he walked out of his room and locked the door. He never left it unlocked. The only time he knew of when someone had entered, was when police received a search warrant from the judge the search his room. Anthony never explained to Jack why they didn't find the shotgun or the bloody purple coat. Anthony apparently lived at the mansion on and off. Outside of seeing him within the grounds, Jack knew nothing of what he did on his own time or what 'important business' meant.

As he walked down the hallway, he half expected his girlfriend to appear and tell him she had been waiting. Her name was Tracy and although she was beautiful and intelligent, Jack felt no real connection to her. They had been on a couple of dates, and then they mostly just hung around and studied together. She went to the same school as he did, and she graduated the same year. She wasn't waiting in the hallway for him, but she was waiting in the kitchen. Richard was moving gracefully through the kitchen, cooking and preparing breakfast for a few people who sat around, chatting.

Tracy was seated at the kitchen's island on a bar stool, studying. She wore a plush blue sweater and a pair of tight jeans, with her blond hair resting on her bosom. She smiled warmly when she saw him and greeted him with a brief kiss. She had been reading out of a textbook. While Jack had decided to take it easy for a year, she had already enrolled into a university. She was here for Thanksgiving break. Her story was almost as depressing as Jack's. Her and her mother were both victims of physical abuse. Due to depression and anxiety, Tracy had started drinking. She had been to the hospital twice for alcohol poisoning and failed rehab two times. The third time was successful, which was when she was sixteen. She didn't talk about it much, which suited Jack just fine. He didn't want to talk about his past either. He just couldn't connect with her. But sex was sex. She was definitely more fun than Marisa had ever been.

"Hi," he said easily. "Why are you studying?"

She rolled her eyes. "Our professor told us we'd be having a test three days after Thanksgiving Break. I have to study."

Jack nodded distractedly, thinking about Anthony. "Have you seen Anthony?"

"Um. No. Not since yesterday. Sorry I wasn't at your party." She stroked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Can we go celebrate tonight?"

"Sure. I just really need to talk to Anthony."

"I'm here!" Anthony exclaimed as he walked into the room. "Hey, Richard!"

"Good-morning, Sir. Will you be having the usual?"

"You bet." Anthony winked at Tracy by way of greeting and slapped Jack on the back. "Let's go for a walk outside, all right?"

Jack glanced at Tracy. "I'll see you later," he muttered.

She nodded and returned to studying.

Jack and Anthony strolled out towards the pool on the wet grass. The November morning sun was not hot enough to dry up the dew. "You want to talk to me?" Anthony asked, all cheeriness gone. He was totally serious now.

"Yeah." Jack stopped walking, causing Anthony to halt too. "How did you do it? It's all over now, can't you tell me?"

Anthony shook his head. "We've been over this before. You're a free man. Why do you care about the past?"

"You _know_. You _know_ I did all those things. Why did you do any of it to help me?"

Anthony smiled casually. "You worry too much."

Jack was not dissuaded. He turned Anthony around to face him completely. A tone of desperation entered Jack's voice, surprising even him. "Why are you doing this? Look, whatever it is that you want from me, I don't know if I can--"

"Jack. Stop." Anthony waved his hand. "Just do what you're told, that's enough."

"No. I can't. I _can't_. This is just not--"

"Before you say anything else," Anthony began with a cautioning tone, "remember what we've done for you. You only have one chance at life, and with us, it's secure. Right now we don't need anything from you. When we do, you'll know. Right now, just do what you need to do for yourself, and we're here to back you up."

Jack sighed softly.

Anthony put a hand on Jack's shoulder, apparently trying to be friendly, but Jack felt cornered. "I know we're friends, Jack. But don't forget who I am."

Jack rubbed his nape. A migraine headache was starting to set in from drinking too much the previous night, spreading from his right temple to his neck. Anthony patted his shoulder, a cool expression on his face, and left Jack standing there as he walked back towards the kitchen.

Jack knew who Anthony was - Consigliere to Lew Moxon, who was currently in federal prison for bank robbery conspiracy and racketeering. This entire estate, where Jack had been living these past two years, belonged to him.


	33. Reminisce

_**Chapter 33 - Reminisce**_

Jack knew better than to get on Anthony's wrong side. He had heard stories from the other young men and women. He imagined most of them were exaggerated rumors, but they were all partially true. Whatever the case was, they all insisted that even though Anthony was capable of violence, they had never heard of him personally doing anything. He was usually the one to think of creative ways to deal with people who decided to rebel against the authority of Don Moxon. He gave the order and it was done, no questions asked. So Jack was nervous.

He had never needed anyone. He didn't _want_ to need anyone. And now, he was sure he was indebted, against his will. He knew there was a catch from the beginning. He should have stayed on the streets. But after nights in a comfortable bed, in the warmth and security of the mansion, and delicious meal after meal, Jack had grown accustomed. He couldn't leave now. If he did he would definitely end up coming back. Either that or he'd be marked, just in case he was at risk of being a rat to the feds.

_Nice goin' Jack,_ he thought, disgusted._ You're a fucking moron._

There was only one good thing that kept him from completely regretting taking Anthony's bait of a warm bed and tasty food - Teresa. Well, he actually hadn't seen her for a long time. Would she even remember him? She probably thought he was just some loser. She probably thought she was out of his league. Jack knew she was, but that didn't stop him from fantasizing. Well, he wasn't a kid anymore. He had come a long way since sixteen. He was more controlled, more reflective. He usually kept to himself, and when he was in groups, he didn't say much. He just listened. Not out of wanting to be a shoulder to cry on, _Fuck no_, he thought, but to learn about people while keeping his personality and motives in the dark.

He was actually quite proud of himself. No one could ever be asked the question, _'What does Jack like to do for fun?' _and come up with the answer. They had no idea. Sure, they could take a guess, but it wouldn't be any more than that. As a matter of fact, he was so skilled at this now, that even Tracy herself couldn't say. Jack was sure that if she allowed herself a moment to think of the fact that she barely knew anything about him - and he had slept with this girl more times than dated her - she would be disconcerted.

Shaking his head to himself, Jack turned away from the house and walked towards the pool. He knew no one was there - he could see the area was empty from here. The only way he would miss someone is if they had been in the pool, and there was no chance of that in November weather.

It was deserted. He collapsed onto one of the wooden pool chairs.

Jack stared around the pool, seeing no signs of life except the grass, which was already starting to look kind of ill and brown. Snow would fall soon and cover everything. Last winter, Joe Chill, Brutus and Andy had been captured after being on the run for a year. The trial had lasted six months, and the jury deliberated for only two hours. The thing to push them over to a full, first degree murder conviction was Bruce Wayne's testimony. Jack had kept up with the case on and off, and sensed a maturity in Bruce that he knew grew out of the trauma the boy felt. He didn't cry on the stand, his eyes didn't even mist over. The thing that stood out to Jack the most was the fact that Bruce was able to look directly at Joe and not flinch. Most adults didn't have that type of strength, and to see it exuded from a boy no more than twelve was humbling.

Jack had been asked to testify too. At first he had declined. The D.A. had asked Jack several times. Even Bruce Wayne's lawyers had personally met with Jack to plead for a testimony. What finally convinced Jack to agree was Luietenant Gordon. He asked him again, "Don't you want Bruce to have justice?" Even though Jack was at a coffee shop with the Luietenant, with the aroma of freshly ground coffee, the scent of icing and noisy people, he still felt like he was back at the interrogation room. He actually glanced around, searching for Schroeder. Gordon seemed to read his mind. He shook his head. "No one else is here. It's just me." He was wearing plain clothes. Jack couldn't even see his badge. He could have been just another civilian, even if he did appear a little disheveled from stress. "Please Jack. You have to testify."

Jack sipped coffee to buy some time before he gave an answer. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "If I testify, if Joe gets the chance, he'll kill me."

"He's absolutely, _not_ going to walk away a free man. Not from this. Thomas Wayne is not just some old doctor. He was a reknowned surgeon. He was a respectable, well-known man in society. None of the civil servants are going to allow his death to go unavenged. Do you know how many people in this city alone owe their lives to this man? He saved their lives because of his profession. It's a pity he couldn't save his own."

Jack cupped his head in his hand, glancing out of the glass window. He sighed again. "If I get hurt because of this, I'm suing your department."

"If you get hurt because of this, I'll help you sue us."

Jack gave a grim chuckle. "All right. I'll testify."

Gordon gave a smile, then laughed, releasing tension. Jack shook his head and sipped his coffee again.

He might have ended up dead because of testifying. But as it turned out, Joe was given thirty years. The other two were given ten each. Jack was safe, at least for now. But Joe's eyes never left Jack's face during his testimony. Jack never faltered while talking, but he came really close. Jack could feel Joe wishing he would drop dead right there. He felt relief when the day was over.

Jack had learned over the many months that Joe had actually been commissioned to kill only Thomas Wayne. His lust for murder led him to kill the woman too. Moxon was in prison because of Wayne, and had apparently hired Joe to kill him for revenge. Jack could have looked through old newspaper articles to find out more, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to. Even if he learned anything, he was sure it would be inconsequential. Whatever had happened, had happened. There was nothing to change it.

Jack snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the distant clang of the metal gates. He glanced over towards the grounds entrance when he saw a car driving down towards the mansion. He couldn't be completely sure, but it looked like Teresa's car.

_A/N: I know nothing much happened in this chapter, but I had to catch you guys up with what happened in the two years. The next chapter should be much more interesting. Thank you for reading!_


	34. Teresa's Room

_**Chapter 34 - Teresa's Room**_

Jack jumped off the pool chair and watched the car as it disappeared around the mansion's right wing. It was going to the garage.

Once inside the dimness of the garage, Jack heard only his gentle panting from running the whole way. He looked around for her, but couldn't see much. There was no engine running. If it was her, she had probably made it inside by now.

He walked deeper into the garage and spotted her car. He neared it and touched the hood of the car, feeling the heat from the engine. There was a still figure in the driver seat. "Teresa?"

Jack rounded the car to the driver side, and saw her bow her head down. "Go away."

Jack tried to open her door, but it was locked. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Just go away, Jack!"

Despite the situation, Jack felt a small glow that she did remember him. She even remembered his name. They hadn't even spent that much time together.

She didn't get out of the car, and didn't unlock the door. Jack knocked on the window. "Hey, come on. What's wrong?"

Without replying, she started to wipe her face. Jack couldn't see her, but he imagined she was crying. _What the hell was going on?_

"I won't tell anyone. Please come out of the car."

"Won't tell anyone what?" A voice asked from another place in the garage.

Jack spun around and saw Tracy walking towards him, a curious smile on her face. "Who is it?"

Jack was about to snap at her to go away when the lock on the door clicked open. He moved aside so Teresa could step out, which she did. Jack looked instantly at her face to see if she had indeed been crying. But she was wearing sunglasses that looked too big for her face. Somehow the large size seemed deliberate. Her hair was messy and it looked like she had dressed in a hurry. She was wearing jeans and an oversized T-shirt with a pink bra-strap showing. She wiped her face again, apparently trying to get rid of smudged lipstick on the right side of her face. Jack couldn't stop looking at the smudge of reddish pink on her cheek.

Jack forgot all about Teresa then. His body went still and icy. He had seen that somewhere before. Jack felt a pang in his chest as his heart leapt and started pounding. He clo_se_d his eyes witho_ut_ even re_a_lizin_g_ it, see_ing_ ima_ges_ fr_om_ _hi_s_ past... At first it _di_dn't look like l_ip_s. It al_most_ looked like s_om_ething _ob_scene. But he saw the tip of a nose, and the lips parted and he saw teeth. They looked like his mother's. A lipstick tube flashed, elegant fingers traced the tube over the pale pink lips to give them color. The lips moved, mouthing, I'm going to work...His vision went blank for a moment, then in dull yellow light, there were a man's fingers rubbing at the lips, rubbing the lipstick onto her cheek... A flash of blood, a dark red smile on sad lips, bloody knife, soiled clothes, spotted walls, dead grass, seething maggots, a horrible stench, a deafening bang, hatred, sadness, terror--_

"Jack!"

When he opened his eyes, he was standing sagged against the car, gasping for breath. Tracy was at his left, Teresa at his right, helping him stay on his feet. His heart palpitated, every now and then lurching. He felt a bead of sweat run down under his chin and down over his Adam's apple. He wiped it away with a trembling hand.

"Jack, are you okay?"

He opened his mouth to talk but his voice was caught in his throat. Clearing his, he said hoarsely, "What happened?"

"You tell us!" Tracy demanded, almost scolding him. "You scared me!"

"I have to sit down," Jack rasped, using the car's side to lower himself to the garage's asphalt floor. He felt light-headed, like he was going to faint. The residual fear continued to quake throughout his body. He couldn't stop it. "What happened to me?" He choked.

"You just closed your eyes. Then you started to fall over. You started shaking."

"How long?"

Tracy glanced at Teresa, who's head was turned towards Jack. Her expression was unreadable. "I don't know, maybe two minutes?" Tracy asked. Teresa said nothing.

Jack frowned and shook his head. It hadn't felt like two minutes. It had felt like a few seconds. In a few seconds his mind had escalated from confusion to pure terror. "I need to get out of the garage."

"You're right. Let's get you some air," Teresa spoke finally. There was no more lipstick on her cheek. But she still wore the sunglasses. She reached down a hand and helped Jack stand. He was still unsteady on his feet. He let the two ladies guide him outside, and he gulped in a lot of fresh air. "Do you feel better now?" She asked, her voice stony.

"Yeah, do you want us to call a doctor?" Tracy's eyes were wide with concern, not leaving his face.

"No," Jack declined instantly. "No, I'll be fine. I just need to catch my breath." He put a hand over his chest as though to tell his heart to calm down. It pounded against his palm, not showing signs of slowing down. He was only wearing a shirt, but he felt like he was wearing a winter coat under a summer sun. He suddenly thought of the pool. "Let's go to the swimming pool."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Tracy said, worried. "You can barely stand."

"I'm going," Jack insisted and thrust forward, growing more steady with every step. Once at the pool, he kneeled down next to the water and splashed some on his face. He felt like he'd tossed handfuls of powdery snow on his face. The drops of water trickled down and rolled under his shirt. He threw more water on his face, and then some more on his hair for good measure. He sat back and heaved a sigh. Tracy was kneeled next to him, waiting for him to finish.

Finally he glanced around, realizing they were alone. "Where's Teresa?"

"She went inside the mansion."

"She didn't look so good."

"_You_ don't look so good. Are you sure you don't want a doctor?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

***********************************

Jack didn't know what to make of the incident, and it plagued him every moment since then. He excused himself from Tracy, and staggered into the mansion through the kitchen's glass door. He figured that would be the most inconspicuous way to get in, but there were several people in the dining area, eating late breakfasts or early lunches. He averted his gaze and hurried through the kitchen, leaving some curious stares and giggles in his wake.

Jack finally reached his room. Grabbing up a towel, he locked himself in the nearest bathroom and turned on the water. Tearing off his clothes, he stepped in allowing the still-chilly water to wash over him. He gave a slight gasp in the cold, but didn't turn on the hot water. He needed to cool his body down. After a few minutes he started to finally feel cold. So he eased on the hot water, making the falling drops lukewarm. When he was completely soaked, he turned off the tap and stepped out. _What the hell was that?_

Jack toweled his body as he realized he didn't like this one bit. He couldn't be fainting at any given time, for no particular reason. He had to find out what had triggered it. Well, he actually already knew. The first part had been lipstick. And Teresa's makeup had been messed up. He finally remembered that Teresa had been really upset. He had to find her.

Drying himself as quickly as he could, he pulled his clothes back on. Leaving his laced shoes in the bathroom, he padded barefoot into the room that held the grand staircase. He glanced up as he held the banister. He had sworn to Anthony that he wouldn't even go upstairs. And he hadn't, except to meet with a friend or two now and then. So now he climbed up slowly, feeling his wet hair soaking his shirt. He still had his towel so he wiped his hair some more. He left the towel slung over the banister. "Teresa?" He called quietly. Her door was so far away, he doubted that she would hear him.

He was also sure that behind the other doors in the hallway, lurked at least some people. If he yelled they would definitely hear him. So he simply went to Teresa's door and knocked on it, knowing the camera could see him. "Teresa?" He whispered loudly. "It's Jack."

He was not expecting the door to open as quickly as it did. "Come in," Teresa said hurriedly, and tugged him inside. She was _still_ wearing the sunglasses. There was a tray of warm food on a table in the corner. Apparently she had just started eating. He saw a crumb of bread on her lower lip, which she brushed away.

"Why are you still wearing those?" Jack asked.

"Are you hungry?" She gestured to the food. "I'm not."

"No, I'm not hungry. I feel sick."

"Me too."

"What happened to you?"

"Didn't Anthony tell you never to come knock on this door?"

Jack sighed. "Yes, he did. But I had to find out what was wrong with you. I've never seen you like this."

"Stop acting like you know me."

Jack was about to respond, but he stopped and thought about what she had just said. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know you. Is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything is fine," she snapped. She seated herself at the solitary wooden chair at the table. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

Jack brushed his hair behind his ears. "No. That wasn't all." In a fluid motion he took two steps closer and went for her sunglasses.

"Hey!" She protested, stopping his hands. He pushed her wrists down and pulled off her sunglasses. She jerked her head back and jumped to her feet. She shoved Jack harder than he thought possible, and he stumbled back onto a large reading chair. He just stared at her face in dismay. Obviously, she was humiliated and turned her face away to hide the ugly bruise around her left eye. He could see her face turning red from embarrassment.

Jack stood up and went closer. "I--"

She spun to face him and dealt a resounding slap. Jack blinked rapidly after she did, holding his cheek. "I deserved that," he muttered. With his cheek still smarting, he started for the door. He could feel his own face growing hot.

But she stopped him by touching his shoulder. She sighed. She bent down and picked up the sunglasses. "You _did_ deserve it."

Jack looked at the sunglasses in her hands. She tossed them onto her luxurious bed.

"But you don't have to leave."

------------------------

_A/N: Please review. This is a really important chapter for several reasons. I'd love to know what you all think. _


	35. Getting to Know Each Other

_**Chapter 35 - Getting to Know Each Other**_

Jack lowered his hand from the door handle and joined Teresa on the bed. She sat perched on the edge, looking stiff necked and tired. He sat on her left so he could see the bruise. "Who did that to you?"

She touched the spot tenderly. Then she shrugged. "I'm so used to it by now."

"Was it your husband?" Jack asked bitterly.

She frowned and looked at Jack. "How did you know I was married?" The few times Jack had seen her, she was never wearing a ring.

"Anthony told me. It was your husband, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she replied indifferently.

"I don't get it. Your father is the Don. Why doesn't he do something?"

"I told him not to do anything to him. I...I love him."

"Don't give me that shit," Jack snapped instantly. He'd heard those same words issued out of his mother's mouth. "You don't love him, you hate him. And you hate yourself."

She picked the sunglasses again and started to fidget, opening and closing them. "I don't hate him."

Jack noticed she didn't correct the second part, about self-hatred. "What the hell is wrong with you? I never understood it. My mother didn't even try to leave. You left before. And now you leave again. That last time I saw you, did he hit you then?"

She thought about it, then nodded. "I'd already been here about two weeks when you showed up."

"You're here now. Why go back?"

She admitted with a voice that said she had already stopped fighting, "He'll just come and find me."

"He can't get in," Jack replied sarcastically, stating the obvious. "There's security."

"The longer I stay gone the more desperate he gets. He needs me. I know he loves me."

Jack stood up, feeling himself getting worked up. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. Did you ever tell the police?"

"No! You can't. Don't tell the police, whatever you do."

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. "I can't believe how much you sound like my mother."

"Your father beat her?"

Jack looked sharply at her. "Don't change the subject." Then he demanded, "Is this what you saw for yourself when you thought of marriage?"

She rubbed her temples. "No, of course not."

"Then why are you letting this happen?"

"I... I don't have as much control over it as you think."

"Of course you do!" Jack replied incredulously. "He just has you manipulated. You're a career woman, you don't need him."

"I can't stay away from him for too long."

"If you can make it one month away from him, you can make it for the rest of your life."

"No!" She burst out suddenly. "I can't."

Jack sat back down. He asked grimly, "What if he hurts you worse than this?"

The very thought made her nervous. She swallowed. "He has."

Jack started to speak again but she cut him off. "That's enough. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Jack completely ignored her. "Do you _like_ being slapped around?"

"There's nothing I can do!" She stood up. "Now I don't want to talk about it anymore, all right? Let's talk about you," she suggested, and turned to face him, her gaze stern. Jack immediately felt himself go on the defensive. "No way. We were just talking about--"

"What happened to you?" She asked. "Have you been starving yourself?"

"No."

"Was that a panic attack?"

"I don't know what that was. I don't want to talk about it either." Jack wiped drops of water away from his neck. Then he chuckled, causing her to laugh softly. "Can I just stay in here and not say anything?"

She glanced at the tray of food. "I suppose. I feel hungry now. Do you?"

"Yeah, I didn't have breakfast."

"Let me get some more food."

After sharing a large breakfast with Teresa in her room, Jack didn't feel inclined to leave. He watched her stir her coffee. "So, how come Richard doesn't say anything about your eye? Does anyone else know about it?"

"No. Richard is very professional. There is so much that goes on around here sometimes. It's not part of his job to ask questions. He's been our butler for years."

"Tell me about Anthony."

Teresa frowned. "We've known him for years too. He's really private. He has his own house somewhere in the area, as far as I know, but no one knows where. See, his title makes him vulnerable to people in our family. He's been threatened before. He was almost killed. I think that scared him. He moved out of this mansion and into his own place. For all the time I've known him, I don't know much about him."

"He seems really friendly." Jack shrugged, picking at a piece of cold toast.

"Yes, it's just a facade. I think he is actually a really cold person."

"Yeah, I'm starting to believe that myself," Jack replied, thinking about what Anthony had said to him earlier.

She didn't seem to notice Jack's darkened expression, and she asked, "So, um, I never asked you about you. I saw you in the news." She studied him. "You were suspected of murder?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. But I wasn't convicted."

"Well, that's a relief. I hope they catch the guy. Well, you probably aren't too upset. You hated your father, am I right?"

Jack tilted his head. "You don't think I did it?"

She laughed. "No. Why would I think that?"

Jack had mixed feelings about what she thought. He felt relieved that she didn't suspect him of such things, but on the other hand that was _him_. Jack shrugged. "Everyone else thinks I did it. They just think I got away."

"Well, you _did_ kidnap your friend, didn't you?"

Jack had been convicted of that. No point in denying that. He still thought it was funny. "Yeah," he chuckled.

Teresa, however, didn't smile. "Why did you do it?"

"They betrayed me. My girlfriend cheated on me with my friend. They deserved it."

"Did you hurt them? Did you hurt her?"

Jack noticed Teresa's inflection changed on the last sentence. She was hoping his answer would be no. Well, it _was_ no to the second question. "I cut him a little. I think I just scared her. I broke into her bedroom." Jack smiled at the memory.

She looked slightly disturbed, and asked another question to shake off the feeling. She lifted her cup of coffee and took a sip. "So, who do you think killed your father?"

"I don't care, like you said. I hope they don't _ever _catch the guy."

"You don't care even a little bit?"

Jack shook his head. "Not even a little bit."

"I noticed they didn't say much about your mother." She put her coffee down and said quietly, "If you don't want to talk about her, I'll understand."

"I didn't hear them say anything on the news about my mother. That case was being covered in Florida. Everyone here just cares about the Waynes."

"Yes, that's right. I'm glad you didn't shoot them."

Jack actually discovered that he was relieved too. "So am I. What did you hear about my mother?"

She looked uneasy. "Well, they said she committed suicide."

Jack had a feeling she would say that. Even though he was not surprised, he vehemently denied it. "She _didn't_ kill herself."

"Well I told you, we don't have to talk about her."

"Don't believe everything they say. She didn't kill herself. My father killed her. He made her drink alcohol and take sleeping pills. I don't know how he did that. But I know she would never do that." Jack paused, realizing he had never told anyone this information. "My mother never drank a day in her life. She hated it because my father would drink, and well, it turned him into a different person."

Teresa nodded knowingly, but said nothing. The two of them sat in silence for several minutes, thinking.

"Do you mind waiting outside or downstairs for me?" Teresa asked suddenly.

"Uh, sure. Why?"

"Well, I want to get dressed. We have to go to the security room and tell Jacob that it's okay if you knock on my door or come into my room."


	36. A Dream

_**Chapter 36 - A Dream**_

Jack spent the rest of the day with Teresa in her room, either chatting or eating meals. No one except Richard came to call on her, and that was only to hand her trays of food.

When it was around dusk, Teresa asked Jack to leave so she could rest. She explained she had eaten too much and was drowsy. Jack was extremely disappointed, but he did understand she needed rest. She looked exhausted, simply because of the way she slouched in her chair or kept yawning.

Jack stood up to leave as Teresa tugged a robe out of her closet.

He said, "Bye," and she replied with a smile, but it didn't suffice for him. He had the door halfway open but closed it again. She looked up questioningly. "What is it?"

Jack left the door closed and walked up to her. He stood a couple of feet away. His brain tried to come up with an appropriate sentence for what he felt, and when he had stood there for almost a minute, with Teresa looking at him with an eyebrow raised, Jack simply took another step forward and kissed her. She went completely rigid as she sucked in a breath and held it. She was so stunned that she didn't kiss back.

Jack didn't hold the kiss for too long. Maybe a few seconds. Mainly because she didn't kiss him back. He wasn't hurt. Not after looking at her shocked face. When he pulled away, she was still frozen. But she licked her lower lip and let go of the robe. It swung back into the closet. "Um."

Jack finally looked away from her face. "Uh... Okay, 'bye." He resisted the urge to flee the room, and walked out as slowly as his legs would allow him. She didn't call him back. As he walked towards the grand staircase he was feeling more and more tense, and vulnerable. Maybe he shouldn't have left like that. As he was lost in his thoughts he had already made it down the stairs, and was heading towards his own room.

On his way, he bumped into Tracy, and snapped back to reality. "I've been looking for you all day!" She exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

"Uh..."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did you have another...episode again?"

Jack frowned irritably. He didn't like that word, _episode_. "No."

"Did you find out what that was? Did you go to the doctor?"

"No. Tracy, I just, want to go lie down. I'm tired."

Tracy smiled suddenly, suggestively. "Mind if I join you?"

Jack felt his annoyance move up a notch, but he kept a straight face. Then he stroked Tracy's hair. "Nope."

Once inside he let Tracy unbutton his shirt, but she noticed right away that he was distracted. So she stopped and asked if he was feeling all right. "No," he said quietly, and looked out of his window at the pool. Of course, Teresa was not there. She was in her room, sleeping.

Tracy left Jack's shirt open and brushed his hair back. "Let me go, then," she suggested. She seemed a trifle icy, but Jack didn't care. Nodding, he lay down in his bed and turned his back to her. "Make sure you lock the door on your way out," he reminded her.

"Okay."

He heard the door click shut, and he checked to make sure she had indeed locked it. He didn't trust anyone.

********************************

_Jack had visited Amusement Mile twice. During the past couple of Halloweens that he had been living at the Moxon Estate. He had been with his friends - well, the closest friends _he _could afford to have, which wasn't very much more than aquaintances. They had done all the usual stuff, playing side games and smashing the thing with the hammer. Jack was quite sure that _both _years they had spent the longest time there. _

_He had been reluctant to go near the end of the Mile, where he knew his mother had been attacked all those years ago. As far as he knew, the same act was still continued. _

_Now he was there again, lights flashing and kids screaming in a distant ferris wheel or teacup ride. Beams of lights were cast into the cloudy night sky, fanning back and forth. _

_Although throngs of people blocked the long, straight road, Jack could see a flash of the bobbing boats and glistening water that ended in a dock. It sloped down slightly, giving him a great view of the crowds. There was a cotton candy vendor to his right, and Jack walked airily to him and paid for a dark purple-hued one that sat in by itself. Jack had never seen cotton candy that color, only baby-pink or pale blue. So he had to have it. _

_As he tore of tufts of the cotton and stuffed it into his mouth, Jack walked down the street towards the boats. It seemed to take forever, especially with all the stupid people in the way. _

_When Jack went to take another piece, he cut his finger. Yanking his hand back he looked down and saw that there was no cotton candy. It was a knife. His finger continued to bleed, so he put that in his mouth and sucked away the blood, tasting the salty bitterness. The taste was so sharp and disgusting. He wished he had some cotton candy._

_Jack checked his finger and heard a scream. He looked up, and saw that the crowds had thinned dramatically. Hours had passed in seconds. Stalls and games were shutting down, putting closed signs on nails or turning off flashing neon lights. _

_He could see people lurking around, most of them looking uneasy in a quiet and deserted amusement park. A carousel tinkled music to his left. It turned slowly, with no one seated on any of the untamed horses. _

_Jack heard a scream. It was coming from the end of the road. No one was around. Everything was closed. _

_Jack felt nervous to be all by himself. Sort of like being in a closet, all dark and no air. _

_Or like the trunk of a car. All dark and no air. Wait. That sounded familiar._

_He was almost out of there anyway. A few more steps and it would be over. Jack looked over the edge of a dock and saw black, inky water. The water sloshed around the pillars propping up the dock, but they made banging noises instead of water sounds. He let go of what he was carrying. But his hand was caught in the handle. Jack gave a cry as he fell over the edge and into the water. _

****************************************

Jack was only half awake when his ears could hear his surroundings. That banging continued from his dream into his first conscious moments. It grew louder and more insistent. Jack finally forced his eyes open and thought that the ceiling looked a lot higher than usual. Then he realized he was on the floor, tangled in the sheets, which clung to his moist skin. "I'm up!" He yelled hoarsely to get whoever was banging on his door to stop making all that noise.

The noise stopped, and Jack disentangled himself from the sheets and stood up. When he opened the door he discovered Tracy standing there. "What do you want?" He demanded irritably. "You woke me up, you know?"

"I know. I think I dropped my earring in there."

"That's why you were knocking so hard?"

"No. That's after I could hear you talking."

"What if I was on the phone?"

She pushed past him gently and searched around on the floor. "You didn't open the door right away."

She lifted up the sheets and tossed them back onto the bed. "Here it is." As she put the earring back on, she glanced at the blanket. "Did you fall off the bed?"

"Yeah. I have to look for something. It should be around here somewhere. I'll just talk to you later all right?"

"Sure. What are you going to look for?"

"Some old medical reports."

Tracy frowned and fixed her hair. "Whose?"

Jack glanced at his closet, knowing he would probably find it soon. "My mother's."

------------

_A/N: Sorry, I'm terrible at romantic scenes. _


	37. The Knife

_**Chapter 37 - The Knife**_

Jack searched through his closet for the sheets of photocopied paper. He had not bothered to put the pages in any protective cover or folder. After pulling everything out of his closet, the whole room strewn over with his belongings, he found a thick wad of folded over pages. Jack opened it up and read over the first couple of pages again, refreshing his memory. Once again, when he drew near the part about the exact details of the rape, he stopped reading and skipped the page. He still couldn't stomach it.

The next page held a report number and a name. It was a handwritten document with two signatures at the bottom. It looked like a statement. Jack had not looked at this page before. In fact, he couldn't even remember copying it.

_My name is Jamie Roscoe. My birthdate is August 31st, 1950. On the date of August 26th, 1972, I talked to a young woman called Sharon. I don't know her last name. The time was around noon. We didn't talk for more than a few minutes, and I asked her out, but she said no. She didn't say anything about her being a minor. I didn't think she was. The last show I performed finished at 8:30 pm. After that me, Derek "Junior" Ellis, and Nate, my brother, went to the dressing rooms, which is about a two minute walk uphill, away from Roger's Yacht Basin. The dressing rooms are behind the other tents and storage rooms. We left Amusement Mile at about ten. The whole place was completely empty, except for a few people who rented stalls on the Mile, and were closing up for the night. From there we went to a couple of bars and then headed home in Junior's car when the bar closed, at three in the morning. He dropped us off at our apartment. _

Jack knew this statement was a lie, because his mother's statement said she had been raped. According to his mother's statement, the rape had taken place at about ten. Roscoe's statement said that they left the area at ten.

Jack skimmed quickly over the next two, similar statements, and was interested to find that there was an incongruency when it came to the time they all left Amusement Mile. Junior said they left at ten-thirty, and Nate said he didn't even know when they left, just that it usually took them about thirty minutes to get out of costume and into regular clothes.

Jack calculated that the event took place about twenty years ago. He was sure he would be able to find information if he went to Amusement Mile, as well as the library to look for old newspaper articles. Most importantly, however, he had the names of the men. He wondered if they were still alive.

********************************

After about a week of more research, utilizing libraries, newspaper archives and public records, Jack found out that out of the three, one had died of a drug overdose a few years back, one was in prison again, and the other... well, the other one was on permanent disability because of an injury that had occured during one of his performances. As it turned out, this one was Jamie Roscoe, the one who had asked his mother out.

Jack didn't dress up in his Halloween costume. He tried out the overcoat for old times' sake, and discovered it fit him perfectly, giving a royal glimmer amidst all the menace. Disappointed, he took it off and put it away. No one knew he had it. Well, Anthony might, but Jack could never get a word out of him.

During the court proceedings dealing with Joe Chill, Jack had somehow managed to get his switchblade back. Right now it rested under his pillow, with his shotgun not too far away, under the mattress. Jack withdrew it from where it was hidden and flicked the blade out. It was still a beautiful knife. Somehow people always kept taking it away from him. First there was Tim, and then there was Joe. Both of them had gotten theirs though.

_Never again_, Jack vowed. This knife was an extention. He twirled it a little, watching it spin and fit snugly in his grip.

Suddenly, Jack remembered the dream. He had been holding the knife, and had cut his finger. He checked his fingertips. They were ridged like they should be and free of cuts. Jack thought about it and remembered that he had cut his right hand in the dream. Taking the knife now, he ran his right index finger over the sharp edge, pressing almost hard enough to cut himself. He thought it was a little dull. Jack searched for a piece of scrap paper and tried the slice the paper with the knife. It didn't work. _Yup_, he thought. _Too dull._

Jack folded the knife back and put it into his pocket. Leaving his room, pausing only to lock the door, Jack headed towards the kitchen. It was empty. Richard was probably doing laundry. If he wasn't cooking he was washing clothes. Jack wondered what he did for fun. Probably went grocery shopping. Jack smiled to himself as he searched for a knife sharpener. When he found it, he ran his knife several times up and down the sharpener. Wiping it clean on his pants, Jack ran his finger again over the edge. He didn't even feel himself get cut. Only after he saw red did he realize that his skin had been broken. Then the stinging started. _Perfect,_ Jack thought.


	38. Find the Lady

_A/N: Sorry the previous chapter was so short. Hopefully this one will make up for it. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! _

_**Chapter 38 - Find the Lady**_

Jack didn't think Anthony knew about this little fact, but him and the other boys had a regular game night. This had been going on longer than Jack knew, but he had been in on it for only about a year. At first they used Jack to win some easy money. After a couple of times, Jack figured out it was all a trick. After he had threatened to slice up the trickster's face for him, Jack received all his money, plus a little bit of interest in good faith. The interest wasn't actually money, but they showed him the trick.

Find the Lady was a con used by groups of three or more men. The men made it appear as though the game was fair and square, but when the real mark came along - the person whose money they were going to steal - they would use sleights of hand to make them lose, even if they did happen to Find the Lady.

It was a game played with three cards, a queen of hearts and the two black jacks, slightly folded in the center for easy maneuvering. The person attracting the mark and betting any amount of money would show him where the queen was. The mark only had to find the queen to win the bet.

Even though the people who taught Jack the hand tricks to cheat the mark had known the game for years, Jack practiced enough to make his sleights of hand undetectable even to the other guys who already knew the game. After a while, Jack became the official guy to trick newcomers to the mansion out of their money. They all had a good laugh. Some guys fell for it more than a few times, some refused to play after the first time of losing their money.

Jack didn't usually like playing with regular cards. He enjoyed playing with Tarot cards, making the game appear more dramatic and ominous than it really was. He regularly used the Fool card, the Empress card, and the Hanged Man card. He used these for himself, to help him decide like the flip of a coin whether to tell the mark how he was tricked or save that for another time. The Empress was of course, the lady. But that was rarely - if not never - found by the mark. The Fool meant that he wouldn't tell them the way the trick worked. The Hanged Man meant that the person still lost their money that round, but they would learn the trick.

Jack, after a few more days, found out exactly where the man lived. He often spent his disability check on booze or scratch-offs. He had no one in his life to miss him. Jack actually thought he might be doing the old degenerate a favor. He lived in the projects, as Jack discovered, on the first floor, which was one story up. Jack approached the building, his knife in his hand, inside his coat pocket, and the three Tarot cards in his back pocket. He elicited curious stares from the people standing around, mostly black people. As he stepped into the building he caught a whiff of pot.

Jack glanced around coolly and opened the door marked "Stairwell". Smoothing his hair back, he stepped up, and found that there were four doors. He knew it was door number 14. Jack listened first, before knocking on the door. He heard someone's TV in another apartment, and some yelling in another. He tried to quietly open door 14, and much to his surprise, it was unlocked. Jack shook his head at the foolishness of not locking the door. He probably figured no one would want to rob him. Jack peeked inside and saw a motorized mobility scooter sitting in the cramped hallway. There were shelves and dirty tile floors.

"What the fuck?" Jack heard a voice mumble. Jack heard heavy, labored footsteps on his left. Jack slipped in quickly and shut and locked the door, drawing the chain on as he stepped into the view of the man. "Who the hell are you?" The man demanded.

Jack studied the man once over, noticing that he stood with great difficulty, his face etched with pain and his spine bent over slightly. He held the kitchen counter for support. Nearby was a walking stick. The man had dull, stringy hair and a large gut. He looked like hadn't shaved - or bathed - in a week.

"Get out of my house," the man ordered. "I don't have anything, and I just ran out of codeine and oxycontin so you can just get the fuck out!"

Jack pulled the cards of his back pocket and fanned them out so the back of cards showed. They were a dark purple hue with golden curls around the edges. The man started to look confused. "What do you want?"

Jack gave a wide smile. It worked wonders with women, usually. It evaporated any suspicions or concerns. With men, however, it usually had the opposite effect. It made them edgy and wonder what the hell was so fantastic that he was smiling so widely. "I want to play a game," Jack said finally.

The man frowned and shuffled on his feet. He walked towards Jack and muttered something about sitting down. Jack allowed the man to walk past. "Fucking crazies," the man said as he walked on with a heavy limp, holding the walls for support. Jack followed after the man, still holding the cards. This wasn't quite the reaction Jack had expected. Maybe this guy was lonelier than he looked. He didn't care who came to visit him as long as someone did.

The guy sat down with a heavy groan onto his lumpy grey sofa. The phone was right next to him. He only need to make a quick grab for it and he would have it. Jack couldn't have that happening. It could ruin everything. So Jack reached down and picked up the phone. The man had obviously been planning on using it, because he made a grab for it, and missed. Jack smiled again. "This game will only take a few minutes."

The man showed the first glint of fear. "What do you want from me?"

"I just want to play. Ever heard of _Find the Lady_?"

The man made a sound. "Don't you know who I am?" He gestured to the wall behind Jack. Jack, as he ripped the telephone cord out of the wall, followed the man's hand. There was a large poster of Roscoe standing with two other men and three women. Roscoe looked surprisingly healthy in the picture, with wiry muscles under his skin tight, sparkling suit. They were, not surprisingly, all circus performers. In the background, were stills of them juggling pins, swallowing swords, and fire-breathing, as well as peforming acrobatics.

Jack turned back as he threw the phone with a loud clatter across the tiles. The man jumped, and Jack noticed it out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, I _do_ know who you are. That's why I'm here." Jack pushed the coffee table closer to the man. The man eyed it nervously. Then Jack kneeled down on the floor in front of the man, and smacked the cards' edges loudly on the table. The man flinched. "So, let's play." Jack flashed a smile again.

The man cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, tossing a glance at the useless plastic phone that sat a few feet away, out of reach. "What are the stakes?" The man asked quietly.

Jack laid the cards out face down, each one bent upward a little, looking like three speed bumps. Jack tsked. "I com_plete_ly forgot." Jack pulled out his knife and laid it on the coffee table, right in the middle between the man and himself. It was closed, and the man's eyes filled with renewed hope of escape. "Each time you find the lady, I'll give you a hundred bucks. If you don't, well, you'll have to give me something more valuable. And hey, if you can find the lady the third time, I'll give you another hundred dollars, and you can _have_ this knife of mine. Deal?"

The man frowned, unable to keep his eyes off the knife for more than a few seconds at a time. "I know this game is a con."

Jack heaved a sigh and shook his head. He picked up the knife and switched it open. He pointed lazily at him with it. "Jamie, I'm giving you a fighting chance now. Why won't you take it?"

The man's eyes widened in surprise when Jack used his name.

Jack gave a sly smile.

"Do I know you?" The man asked.

Jack shook his head. He was starting to lose his patience. "Are you going to play or not?"

The man looked down at the cards and then at the knife in Jack's hand. "I'm going to lose," the man said.

Jack stabbed down the knife into the wooden coffee table, and it stood there. "You don't know that. If you win, it will be fair and square. I _promise._" Jack didn't break eye contact at the last word. He meant it.

The man hesitated and wriggled in his seat. His legs were trapped between the sofa and the coffee table. Even if he hadn't pushed the table closer, he'd be trapped because of his disability. "Okay, fine. I'll play."

Jack clapped his hands and grinned. "Great! Let's see if you can find her."

Jack flipped over all the cards so the man could see that the Empress was in the middle, and the the Fool was on one side and the Hanged Man was on the other. Turning them all face down, Jack began to shuffle them. Sometimes, even if Jack wasn't trying to cheat, people still couldn't find the card because he was so skilled and so deft. But the man knew his stuff, and he found the lady the first time. Jack picked up one of the other cards and flipped over the one that the man chose. It was the Empress. "Great job," Jack remarked, a little patronizingly. He dug into his other back pocket and pulled out a crisp hundred dollar bill. "Check it. It's real," Jack insisted. The man held it up to the light and saw the strip marked over and over with 100 USA. He also ran his thumb over the watermark of Benjamin. "It's good," the man said and put the bill on the couch next to him. "I told you," Jack grinned, pleased. "Time for round two."

Jack began again by showing him the place of each card, then began to shuffle them face down. This time, Jack went even faster than the first time, not missing a beat, never faltering. The man was still able to pick out the Empress card. Jack nodded his head. "Impressive." He pulled out another hundred and placed it on the table. Then he took out his third hundred dollar bill and pulled the knife out of the table. He laid them side-by-side and said, "This could be yours."

The man shook his head. "Why are you doing this?"

"Shh. Now watch. Find the Lady again."

Jack shuffled the cards again, a little bit longer than before. The man watched nervously, expecting to lose no matter what now. Jack stopped and looked at the man. "Third time's the charm?"

The man, disheartened, pointed at the one he thought was the Empress. Much to his surprise, Jack turned the card over and there she was, the beautiful, regal woman with golden locks and flowing water around her. Jack shook his head. "I guess I lose," Jack said, as he pushed the money and the knife over. "Why are you doing this?" The man folded the three bills together and placed it on the couch. Then he went to take the knife. Jack put his hand over it before the man could take it. "Wait," Jack said, a slight note of pleading in his voice. "I really like this knife of mine. My dad gave it to me. Do you think we could play again for it?"

The man frowned, but after winning three hundred, his defenses were low. "All right, fine. One last game."

Jack grinned. "Perfect. If you find the lady, this knife is yours! If you find the Fool, well, you won't get it and you won't know why I came here. If you find the Hanged Man, you won't get the knife, but I'll tell you why I'm doing this. Deal?"

"Deal."

Jack placed the cards face down one final time and shuffled them. The man, without hesitation, pointed at the Empress card, which was in the middle. It was really there. Jack knew this guy was good. But he wasn't going to let him win. Not this time. Jack used what was called a Mexican turnover to show the man the card he had supposedly picked. Jack, pretending to use the left card to turn over the Empress, actually switched the left with the Empress. So, instead of flipping over the card that the man actually picked, he turned over the one he had pretended to use to flip the card. The man looked at the card Jack had turned face up. It was the Fool.

The man's eyes flashed up at Jack's face. "You cheated!"

Jack picked up his knife. "Sorry Jamie. I guess you won't know why I came here."

Jack pulled the knife back and stabbed it foward, right into Jamie's neck. His voice was choked off as Jack slashed his throat. Jack heard the man's throat cartilage crack. It would take a few minutes now for him to drown in his blood. The man struggled to get up, and Jack did nothing to stop him. He was already practically immobile, with a damaged spine. Blood loss would only heighten this. Sure enough, the man was too weak to go more than a few steps, and he fell down with a series of thuds. He reached his bloody hands out for the phone, which of course, was dead. Jack waited a few more moments as the man's movements grew slower and his eyes drooped. Blood leaked out of his nose and mouth, and bubbled at his throat as he tried to breath.

Jack picked up his knife, and the three cards and went into the kitchen to wipe his blade clean. He tossed the paper towels on the floor and was about to walk out. Then he remembered. He picked up the three hundred dollars off the sofa and left the apartment.

-------------------------

_A/N: The Empress card actually stands for a creative force. Life itself, if you will. The Fool is about unbridled dreaming, but also a slight warning in that too much dreaming can make you end up like a fool. Finally, the Hanged Man represents sacrifice in order to gain knowledge, and I read that it is actually symbolic of the Norse god, Odin. I don't know much about Tarot cards at all, I just did a bit of reading and incorporated it into the story. What explanation I have given here in my note is really basic, and Tarot cards are, in fact, highly complex. _


	39. A Father's Son

_**Chapter 39 - A Father's Son**_

Jack returned to the mansion later that night. He wondered how long it would take for someone to notice that the man was dead. He was quite sure the police would suspect that he had been killed for prescription drugs.

When he returned to his room, without turning on the lights, he locked his door and sat on his bed. Moonlight cast silver rays on his floor through the window, illuminating the room in a bluish tinge. He pulled out his knife and noticed that there was still residual blood clinging to the grooves. There was even blood on his hands. Jack's eyes went out of focus as he recalled, with a certain amount of pleasure, the way the man had succumbed to his injuries. The injuries that Jack had inflicted. Jack wasn't disconcerted by the fact that he felt pleasure from the act, and to him, _that_ was disconcerting. He retreated to his bathroom and rinsed the blade further, using liquid soap and paper towels to clean the grooves. He scrubbed his hands long and hard, and checked his face and clothes for blood. His face had only a couple of tiny drops, almost unnoticeable, and his clothes were black. Nevertheless, he would have to wash them.

He checked his hair and saw a rather large drop of blood near his hairline. He started washing it out, meanwhile, looking at his face. He didn't look tired or scared or nervous. He remembered how exhausted he had been after he had left the bodies of his father and the woman that was with him. He had been fatigued beyond belief and it had shown on his face. He had even gotten sick. He was sure part of the reason was the fact that he had been forced to survive in the cold weather, but now... Now his face was healthy and aglow with a slight excitement.

He studied his light brown eyes. He finally realized what was different. It was undetectable. Well, almost. They were too wide. They didn't make him look afraid, on the contrary, they made him look savage, like he was going to attack or snap at any moment. Jack rubbed his eyebrows and frowned. That look on his face was oddly familiar. He started to feel a little sick now. At last. But this was still the wrong reaction. His logical mind understood that. He was feeling sick because of his own face, not because of the murder he had just committed.

Jack left the bathroom, thinking about his reflection. He couldn't imagine what made him so uncomfortable about it. It wasn't just the wild look anymore, it was the familiarity of that look. He had seen it before somewhere, and it always ended in a bad way, without fail.

It was a look that ellicited nausea, fear and anxiety. He suddenly wanted to run. But of course, he just continued to walk down the hallway back to his room. As he reached his door, the knife in his hand slipped out of his hand and fell with a gentle thud on the carpetted floor. Jack jumped slightly. He hadn't even felt the blade slip. He noticed his hands were incredibly sweaty. Maybe it was just water from the bathroom. He wasn't sure. Jack bent over to pick up the knife, and saw his hand shaking. He stopped, wondering what was happening to him.

As he stood there, bent over, blood rushed to his head, making him whoosy. He held the handle of the door to help himself back up, realizing that his breathing was shallow. He concentrated and forced himself to breath slowly, but just when he stopped focusing on that, his breathing quickened again. Jack looked down the hallway to make sure no one was coming. As he stared he felt his vision blurring. The hallway darkened a little as Jack felt faint. Trying his hardest to stay standing, he clutched the handle of the door so hard that his hand slipped. The sudden movement jolted him, and his eyes shot open. He squinted down the hallway again, and felt a drop of cold sweat run down the side of his face. He groaned and fell on the floor, finally unable to hold himself up.

And then Jack finally remembered.

That crazed look he had seen in his own eyes was none other than that of his father...

**********************

_Jack felt himself reliving the day his father had tried to kill him. _

_He tried to stop it, but he couldn't. The memory played in front of him and he was strapped down with his eyes taped open and his head clamped in place..._

_He walked inside the house, and heard the voices. And when he tried to escape before being caught he was trapped. Jack tried to leave the house, he had to leave otherwise he was going to see the rest of it. _

_He couldn't stop and the door was locked. _

_he smashed bodily against it, and heard heavy footsteps..._

_....there was a crushing blow against the door above him and Jack was on the floor, covering his face. He wanted it to stop, he didn't want to remember anymore... _

_...a powerful kick flew into his stomach and now he couldn't breathe. _"Stop..." _he murmured... then his shoulder was broken... _

_he screamed so loudly, but it was only how he felt... he felt the scream tear at his throat but all he heard was a quiet moan. _

_jack struggled to get up but he just couldn't move... "he's just a kid,"...._

"Stop..."_ jack whispered. "_Go away_..."_

"Jack!"

_jack tried to open his eyes but even though they were open he couldn't see... it was so dark, and now his mouth tasted terrible... he wanted to vomit and he couldn't do it... he couldn't get rid of the horrible taste, like old sweat and dirt mixed together... _He coughed_._

"Jack, wake up!"

_jack struggled to move, unable to see... he couldn't talk and just moaned.... _

Abruptly there was ice-cold water on his face. He sucked in a great gasp of air, and the water ran into his mouth, washing away the vile taste and cooling his burning hot skin.

Finally it was over. And he opened his eyes, water dripping into them. He blinked several times, and someone wiped the water away. "Jack?"

Jack grunted softly and raised his head up slightly. He tried to sit up but felt that he was much too weak. The person next to him wedged their hands under Jack's back and helped him up. Jack propped up his right leg and put his elbow on his knee. He leaned back into the person that supported him, and watched as drops of water fell onto his leg and marked his jeans with dark circles.

Finally Jack wiped his eyes and looked over his shoulder. He hadn't been happier to see anyone in his whole life as he was now. "Teresa," he muttered. "It happened again."

"I thought so," she said quietly. "What happened?"

"I... I don't know. I don't know how it started and then after it did, I couldn't stop it. It just kept getting worse. I think I passed out."

"You did _some_thing." She stood up and extended a hand to him. "Do you think you can stand?"

He took her hand, but knew that she would never be able to pull him up. He was probably fifty pounds heavier than she was. So he gripped the door handle again and helped himself stand. Then he leaned on the wall. "Let's go inside. I need to sit down."

Jack fumbled with his weakened hands to get the door open, and finally Teresa unlocked it for him. He tripped a little as he walked in, but reached the bed safely. When he sat down he finally relaxed his body, slouching over, and dropping his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Teresa stood there just inside the room. Jack looked up tiredly at her, and noticed she looked kind of uneasy. "I don't bite," he laughed weakly.

Teresa glanced into the hallway and then shut the door. But then she just stood there, looking like she wanted to run away. Much like how Jack had felt right after he had kissed her about a week or two ago. He hadn't seen much of her since then. Her bruise was gone, and her skin was as smooth as ever. She was wearing a pair of stretchy jeans with a white frilly blouse. Her hair was tucked under a pair of darkglasses. Jack asked, "What were you doing there anyway? Were you coming to see me?"

She exhaled a little, apparently to calm her nerves. "Yes, I was coming to see you."

"Why?"

She looked like she had the answer but was too ashamed or afraid to say it. Finally she shook her head and joined Jack on the edge of the bed. "About what you did..."

"I know, I'm sorry," Jack blurted quickly. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I know you're married and all that." Although his words were designed to sound a little bit noble, he rolled his eyes, totally dealing the opposite effect of the words.

She hesitated after hearing Jack's tone of voice. So, without even realizing it, she did the most distracting thing she could have probably done. She reached out and touched a drop of water that still clung to the side of his face and wiped it away. Then she did it again, this time with a drop of water that dangled from a lock of hair. Jack sat still and let her continue. The third time it was a drop of water on his neck and he felt himself swoon under her touch. Marisa had never done that to him, and he sighed at the sensation.

Now positively dizzy, Jack turned and took Teresa around her waist, no longer thinking, but just going with it. She dug her hands into his hair and planted her lips on his, smooching and nipping his mouth. Jack pulled her sunglasses off and tossed them on the floor. He pulled her closer and she went on her back, pulling Jack on top of her. Jack had no problem letting her do so, and felt himself swoon again. She sighed with her voice in his ear. Jack forgot all about everything, his strength came back to him, and now he was drowning sweetly in her scent and sensation.


	40. The Husband

_Author's Note: Hello everyone. I'm so glad you're all reading my story and enjoying it. I recently put up another story called, "About-Face" and it's a short story, only two parts. Part II will be up in a day or two. If you feel like reading it, please do. It's posted in Batman The Animated Series section, not in the Dark Knight section. _

_More importantly, I'm so happy that Heath Ledger won a post-humous Golden Globe for Best Actor, and I really felt touched by Director Nolan's words, and I think we all feel the same way about him as far as acting goes. I love the low rumble of laughter that was drawn from the audience by a clip of Heath's performance. I find myself wishing yet again, after all this time, that he was still alive. My heart really goes out to Michelle. I can't imagine how painful it must be for her. _

_**Chapter 40 - The Husband**_

It was two weeks since the first time with her and it was still amazing. He knew she thought so too. When he was not with her he craved her. When he was with her again she let him know she felt the same way with hungry kisses. He completely forgot she was married. She had never worn a ring.

It was the middle of the day, and both of them, half-naked, shared a plate of tuna sandwiches. Jack was starving - he had skipped breakfast - and put away quite a few pieces. Teresa however, looked distracted. She ate only one half of a sandwich, and appeared to be watching TV, but was actually staring right through it. It was on mute.

Swallowing the mouthful, Jack said, "What's wrong?"

Teresa snapped out of her thoughts. She had done that before. Not very often, but each time was very clear in his memory. She went somewhere else. If there was a fire burning in the room she wouldn't notice. It was intense and he could see her face grow taut, and she sat so still. "Nothing," she breathed. She had even stopped breathing.

"Where do you go when you get like that?" Jack asked.

"Nowhere I want to," she said wistfully.

"What were you thinking about?"

She studied Jack's face for a moment, then looked away, staring into space again. "Children," she said in a haunted voice.

Jack frowned. "What children?"

She shrugged slightly. "Just... Children."

Jack remembered one of the times that she had left her body behind that way. It was two years ago at the medical clinic she had taken him to fix his broken nose. She had been staring at the children in the playground. Jack hesitated to ask her anything else. She looked ready to explode like a decades old, active mine. A singular touch and...

Jack decided it was important to change the subject. But she did it for him. "I want to go out. I need some fresh air."

He was taken by surprise, but was also relieved. "Oh. Okay. Where are we going?"

"I'm going alone," she said flatly.

Completely taken aback, Jack didn't say anything as she suddenly got up and snatched some clothes out of her closet. He stood up and watched her get dressed. "Where are you going?"

Teresa stopped moving, and looked Jack right in the face. Almost in an accusatory tone, she replied, "Confession."

"Confession?" Jack asked, baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"It's where you go to the priest and--"

"I know what it is," Jack cut in. "What I mean is, why? What's the point?"

She seemed to bristle at the last question, but turned away, and went to her vanity table. "I don't expect you to understand."

"What do you mean? I'll understand if you just tell me."

She shook her head and started to brush her hair. "I can't explain it."

"Sure you can." Jack walked over to her and leaned his butt on the edge of the vanity table. He folded his arms over his bare chest. "Tell me."

She raised her eyes at him, searching for a good candidate for proper understanding. He knew he failed her test when she shook her head again, discouraged. "I can't."

"What difference does it make anyway? Even if you do confess? You're just going to do it again."

She slammed her brush down. Jack felt the vibration through the wooden vanity table. "I'm not _supposed _to do it again," she said, quite viciously.

Jack stood up straight and felt a ripple of frustration, and by the time the words were out of his mouth, that ripple was a wave. "You'd rather fuck that rat-bastard who beats the shit out of you?"

She seemed to physically shrink, but in reality she only pulled back a little. "No," she said shakily. "But he's my husband."

Jack threw his hands up and took a few paces around the room. "You're unbelievable."

"I told you, you wouldn't understand." She stood up and started to pick up a tube of lip gloss, but disheartenedly threw it back on the table. She picked up her keys from the table and started to walk towards the door. But Jack stopped her by taking her right hand. "Help me understand," he said, as gently as he could force his voice to sound.

She shook her head. "I don't want you in here when I come back. I'll be back in about an hour."

Jack pulled her hand a little and she turned to face him. He was a few inches taller than she was, and she looked up impatiently at him. "What's so bad about 'us' that you need to confess? Huh? We love being with each other, why can't that be okay?"

She snatched her hand away. "Because it's _not_ okay! I made a mistake. _You_ made a mistake. This is all wrong. I'm married. It's so wrong." She seemed to be talking a little to herself. "God, what was I thinking?"

Jack thought she was beating herself up too much. "You were thinking you don't want to be with a guy like your husband. And you wanted to know what it would be like to be with one that wasn't." Jack moved closer and put his arms around her shoulders and his chin on the top of her head. "It's not so bad, is it? Is it really a sin?"

When he finished talking she abruptly, violently struggled to get free. "If the devil was talking now he'd sound just like you!"

"What the... What the hell is wrong with you?" Jack rubbed his chest where she had pushed him.

"Yes! It's a sin! I took wedding vows in front of God and I broke them! Again and again and _again_!"

"So did your husband!"

She pulled in a shuddering breath and forced herself to say in the calmest voice she could manage, "That doesn't mean I have the right to sin." She suddenly looked away picked up his shirt. She balled it up and flung it at him. He caught it before it hit his face. She pointed at the door. "Get out. I don't want you here when I come back." She spun away and ran out of the room, slamming her door.

Jack stood, holding his shirt like a homeless man with the sound echoing in the room. After the resounding noise stopped, he heard her footsteps fade away as she hurried away from him. Like he was some kind of monster.

Jack fell into a sitting position on the end of her bed. He heaved a sigh and remembered his reflection. He _was _a monster. Well, he looked like one. The only one he ever had in his life. Most people didn't think of monsters as humans. Jack knew better though. He knew the only monsters in life were people who looked normal and acted like monsters. Parasites. Vampires. Ghouls. Demons. Devils.

Jack pulled the elastic band out of his hair and retied it. Even his hair was like his father's. The same color, the same type and texture. They could have been brothers with a large gap in age. Jack slowly pulled his shirt on.

Since she said she'd be back in about an hour, Jack made himself comfortable on her bed and took in the smell of her pillow. It smelled like her hair, like her conditioner. That smell was nostalgic to him now, he would never forget it. If she left and came back in another two years he would still remember that scent.

Jack dreaded the end of the hour, because then he'd have to leave her room. He loved her room. It was an extension of her. It wasn't like his room, which although he continually locked himself in, it was more like a prison cell than a room. Her room was a pleasant place where he could go and have a good time with no one bothering them. He suspected she didn't let anyone in, not even Richard. He had seen her clean the room herself.

Jack had to drag himself away from the room, and he just shut the door... And immediately regretted doing so. He wanted to go back inside and wait for her to get back. He wanted to go back and roll around on her bed and lock himself up in her closet so he could drown in her scent again.

How long had she been feeling this way about their relationship? Then Jack remembered she had left while he was sleeping a few times. Just picked up her clothes and left without saying goodbye or where she was going. And he finally understood that all those times she had just gone to confession.

As he walked down the stairs he bumped into Richard, who gave him an airy, "Hello, Sir."

Then something occured to Jack. "Richard, do you know which church Teresa goes to?"

"I'm not sure which church she favors these days, Sir, but when she used to live here she went to the Saint George Cathedral."

"Can you tell me where it is?" Jack asked eagerly.

"It's at Cathedral Square."

Jack was out in the garage in minutes, behind the wheel of his car. He had driven past Cathedral Square a couple of times, and it was a large, concrete square with a stone sculpture of a larger-than-life angel, acsending to heaven. It must have been about fifteen feet tall, with about five more feet added to the base for the pedestal on which the sculpture stood. There were benches dispersed evenly over the square with trees for shade. The church was a gothic style cathedral - hence the name - with blackish gray walls and metal spires. It had the traditional stained glass art, and the one to grace the front of the magificent building was an image of the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus crucified. Jack had never been inside.

He parked the car at a meter and dropped some quarters in.

He didn't see her car anywhere. Jack searched more carefully and saw, through the medium density traffic, her car drive past him. It slowed down a little as it passed him, then sped up and she parked her car crookedly in another metered spot on the other side of the street. Jack quickly crossed the street and met up with her as she was just getting out of the car. She fumbled with the keys and some quarters in her hand, and dropped everything. She was shaking.

Jack tried to help her steady herself. She looked like she was going to scream. "Hey," he said firmly. "Calm down. What's wrong?"

"I... I...He's...I saw his car!"

"What? Whose car?"

"Let's go inside. He can't see me."

Jack picked up two of the quarters she had dropped and her keys. He pushed the quarters into the meter and put an arm around her. "Let's go."

Halfway across the square, at the central angel, Teresa stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes were trained fearfully at the corner to the left, the one close to the church. There were some people sitting at the benches and eating some food or reading the paper. But Jack knew she was looking at the man who was walking towards them. She hid behind the giant angel's pedestal and sagged against it. "Oh my God," she whispered.

Jack knew the man had already seen them because he started walking faster. He felt his pockets for his knife and felt it in his right pocket. Jack wrapped his hand around it and pulled it out. "Let's go back to your car."

"No! He'll catch us!"

"We can't just stand here!"

Teresa slumped to the ground, and broke into sobs.

"Get up!" Jack looked around the statue and saw that the man was close enough for Jack to distinguish his features. He was a large man, about Jack's height, but definitely had about forty pounds on Jack, all muscle. His face was more cunning than intelligent, and right now he looked livid with rage. Jack's presence was probably not helping the situation. "Shit, Teresa, get up!"

Teresa had her eyes shut, willing all of this to go away. Jack finally bent down and bodily grabbed her. He forced her to stand and shoved her towards the street. It would take them about a minute to get there if they ran. She tripped, and would have fallen if Jack wasn't there to stop her. He tugged her urgently to get her going. She looked ready to shatter to pieces. She was already in shambles emotionally.

Jack gave her a push so she would go ahead of him, but once he did, he felt rough hands grab his hair and the back of his shirt at the same time. Both tore, and Jack felt hair tear out of his scalp. A surge of searing pain spread over his head, and he gave a cry. It was lucky he didn't drop the blade. Instead, he had enough sense to switch it open just as the man spun Jack around and clenched the front collar of his shirt. "What are you doing with my wife?" He hissed ferociously.

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Author's Note: Sorry to cut it off right there, this chapter was getting so long. Not so hard to figure out what's going to happen next though. So it's not really a cliffhanger. _

_I was listening to Life of Agony as I wrote this chapter. God that is one amazing band. His voice is incredible. So full of emotion, it puts a knot in my own throat sometimes. If you get a chance to listen to those guys, please do. _

_On another note, J-Horror Girl, this chapter was inspired by your words, or I should say, word. "Adultery." Most others would call it cheating. Adultery is, from my point of view, a purely Biblical word. In my mind, there are not many words with such gravity as the word "adultery." So, it just followed logically that, being an Italian mob boss's daughter, she would be Catholic. I'm not Catholic and while I believe confession is important, I don't believe forgiveness can be given by the priest. The only one who can forgive is God, none other. _


	41. Betrayal

_**Chapter 41 - Betrayal**_

Jack was ready to take a slice at the man's face, but the man flung him to the ground. Teresa screamed, and Jack's head cracked the concrete. He grimaced in pain, and had no time to recover as the man wrapped his rough hands around Jack's throat. Jack immediately let go of the knife and started trying to remove the man's hands, even before he started strangling. But the man straddled Jack and put several pounds of pressure on his throat.

Jack could hear people screaming for someone to call the cops, and footsteps pounding the concrete. Teresa was the closest person, and she hastily returned to beat at the man with her fists. "Let him go! You'll kill him!"

Jack felt his face growing hot and his vision, bright. He wasn't sure how long he wss deprived of air, but he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. Teresa's voice was now distant. "Drew, let him go!" The man, Drew, let Jack go only long enough to shove Teresa away with a hefty push. He sent her staggering backwards.

Jack sucked in a ragged breath to fill his starved lungs. Drew's hands returned, but that one breath of air was all Jack needed for his senses to come rushing back sharply. He felt around for the knife and wrapping his fingers around it, slashed the man's forearms. Drea immediately pulled back, and finally people reached them. Two young men pulled the man off, and Jack coughed. Blood has spilled onto his chest and neck.

Teresa came over, her face streaked with tears. She helped Jack sit up as he breathed raggedly, coughing with each exhalation. His throat still felt closed up. He spitefully wiped the blood off his neck.

The man struggled against the two young men, swearing and cursing at them. They were doing their best to hold onto him. He was a huge man, and didn't let them push him to the ground.

Within another minute, two cops appeared on the scene. One of them issued a warning. "Sir, you're going to have to calm down, or we'll cuff you." The same cop offered one more warning when Drew told him to "Fuck off." The second warning was about as ineffective as the first one, this time causing Drew to kick out at the officer. They swiftly decided the time for warnings had passed, and pinned him to the ground with their knees and cuffed him. He still continued to struggle.

Jack's throat ached from the assault that was just dealt it, and he finally stood up. Teresa held onto him and looked miserable and ashamed.

One of the cops muttered something into his walkie-talkie and looked up at Jack. He added another message.

"I'm not hurt," Jack croaked.

The cop shook his head. "Just a precaution."

"Let's go. Please, I want to go."

"Ma'am, first we need to make a police report. We need you to wait just a few more minutes."

They warned Drew away to calm down, otherwise they'd mace him. One warning didn't suffice, so they hit him right in the face with hit. He shook his head like a dog with something in it's nose, then groaned as the mace starting burning. "Ah, fuck..."

Finally he stopped struggling and just lay there, eyes clamped shut.

Teresa turned away from him - she obviously couldn't look at her husband anymore - and buried her face in her hands.

As two more cops and two paramedics truck arrived right onto the square, the cops hoisted Drew to his feet. Paramedics got to work on Drew's arm and had the bleeding contained and put some ice on it. As for Jack, they examined his throat and said that he had to go to the hospital.

"No. I have to be with her," Jack declined hoarsely.

One of the EMTs shook his head. "You've just been strangled. You have marks all around your throat and you need to be examined further to see if you have bruising inside, which I'm betting that you do. That could be lethal if you're not under supervision." He checked Jack's right eye. "He popped a blood vessel in this eye."

"Jack, I think you should go. I'll come with you."

Jack hesitated, but finally agreed.

Those few minutes needed to compose a police report turned into an hour and a half at the hospital.

Jack almost had his knife taken away, but according to the law, the size of the knife was within legal limits.

Teresa disappeared after the cops when they left.

Jack sat there in the hospital bed, disgusted. She was going to find out about her useless husband. She was probably going to bail him out. Then he was going to come after him. If it wasn't his father it was some other asshole. Jack touched his throat gently, feeling it ache something awful. It hurt to breath and if he tried to swallow that hurt even more. Jack swung his feet to the floor and stood up. He went after Teresa to stop her idiotic behavior.

Jack saw her follow the cops into another, nearby room, where her husband was getting treated for the cuts. Jack walked into the room and the cops immediately pushed him out. "You can't be in here."

"What? Why not?" Jack demanded, his voice cracking.

Teresa's husband looked completely different now. His black hair was short and shiny, resting on his forehead. He cast Teresa a forlorn look, appearing completely different from the wild-eyed raging bull of a man that had attacked Jack earlier.

"Let me in, damn it!" Jack's voice stopped working at the last two words. He just ended up mouthing them.

"Jack, go away!" Teresa snapped, upset. She went to her husband's side and the tears started coming.

Jack threw his hands up in the air. "This is fucking ridiculous!"

"Have you been cheating on me, Teresa?" Drew asked gently and sadly. Jack's jaw dropped in astonishment at the sincerity in his voice.

Teresa didn't answer, but she threw her arms around her husband and started sobbing more loudly. Drew put his bandaged arms around her and patted her back. "I was hoping you'd come home sooner."

Jack shook his head. "I can't _fucking _believe what I'm seeing."

"Jack go away!" Teresa flared, her voice trembling.

"Fine. I'm gone," Jack croaked. "I'm outta this place."

Jack walked out of the hospital without waiting for further treatment.

*************************************

He couldn't believe it. Jack had trouble breathing as he walked out of the hospital. Skipping the idea of using a cab, he vented his energy into walking all the way back to Cathedral Square. It took him about an hour in the cold December air. By the time he reached his car his fingers were numb.

He was still furious. He hated feeling this way. It wasn't the same sort of anger he felt when his father hit him, or when he thought about that sack of shit who raped his mother. It wasn't the same. He didn't want to hurt Teresa. Well, he did kind of. But only to knock some sense into her. She was so wrapped up in that husband of hers she wasn't seeing how great it was to be free.

Jack slammed his driver side door. He sat in the car, gasping for air. He checked his eye in the rearview mirror and saw that the outer white part of his right eye was a deep crimson. His throat was red and purple, and he knew it was going to get worse. Bruises usually got worse after about a day. He almost fucking dies and she goes to _him._

Then Jack finally noticed it. A piece of paper on his windshield. He jumped out and snatched it up. It was a parking ticket. "Fuck."

Jack got back to the mansion only to be greeted by a series of questions about what happened to him. He didn't answer anyone and retreated gladly to his room. He leaned against the door to catch his breath.

He had glimpsed Anthony with the other people, and Jack knew it was him when there was a knock on his door.

Jack opened the door and glared at him.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Anthony demanded.

"What?"

Anthony gave a humorless chuckle and asked, "Did you meet Teresa's husband?"

"I see you've been spying on her."

"Not her you fucking idiot. You. What's this I hear about gambling sessions?"

"What? How did you hear about that?"

Anthony shrugged. "I started that tradition. No one knows though. I hear you're pretty good."

"I'm all right," Jack murmured. "Do we have to talk about this right now?"

"Yeah. I got a job for you."

"What kind of a job?"

"Working at a casino."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I don't want to do that shit!"

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "No? Well, you only have one other option."

Jack rolled his eyes. "What the hell is it?"

"Go back to school."

-----------------------------------------

_I really hate this chapter. _


	42. Unpleasant Goodbyes

_Looks long but it's mostly just dialogue. _

_--------------------_

_**Chapter 42 - Unpleasant Goodbyes**_

"You can't be serious."

"I am. This is important. Remember what I told you about everyone who comes to stay with us?"

"Yeah."

Anthony came inside and shut the door. He locked it. "I know you did it. I know you killed your father. I know you killed that woman that was with him."

Jack had had his suspicions. Now they were confirmed. "So why did you help me get off the hook?"

"We need people like you. Most people here aren't really sure what to think of you. Did you know that?"

"Of course. I made it that way."

"Exactly. But I have been thinking. Why didn't you kill the Waynes when Joe asked you?"

"Why don't you just watch the trial videos?"

Anthony gave me a knowing smile. "I think you lied."

"You thought I lied about wishing I had a father like Doctor Wayne?"

"No, not that. That bullshit about the boy."

Jack shrugged. "Well if you know that I killed my father then it shouldn't be so hard to figure out. My question to _you_ is, how come they didn't find my gun? How come they didn't find my coat? What did you do? Pay them off?"

"Not exactly. I don't think you know how many cops actually work for us."

"So you _did_ pay them off."

"No. We had already bought them. Loyalty doesn't come within a day. It takes years to breed it to maturity."

Jack studied Anthony's face for a moment, then said, "What do you want me to study?"

"Anything you want. We pay your way. Until we need you, there is no connection between us."

"So you may never need me?"

"It's a possibility. Not likely though."

"What do you recommend for me?"

Anthony walked to Jack's bed and dug under his mattress. He pulled out the sawed-off shotgun and checked it. "Fully loaded."

Jack shrugged.

"Where did you get it?"

"A drug pusher friend of mine."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

"You killed your father a little while after?"

Jack nodded.

Anthony looked at the gun again. Then at Jack. This question seemed frivolous. Purely out of curiosity. "What was your costume?"

Jack considered. "Some kind of deranged clown."

"Was your old man scared?"

"No," Jack chuckled. "He never admitted that he killed my mother."

"From what I heard he committed the perfect murder. Made it look like a suicide."

"My mother never drank a day in her life. I don't know how he did it. I'll never know. That died with him."

Anthony gave Jack an even more piercing gaze with his intelligent eyes. They were brown with low eyebrows, hooding them in mystery. "How did you feel after you killed him?"

Jack looked away to remember the feeling. "I wasn't thinking about it. I just did it."

"You beat him pretty well, isn't that right?"

Jack's face expressed distaste. "Yeah, that stupid bitch started banging on the door. I should have killed her first so I could have taken my time killing my dad."

"So you enjoyed it?"

Jack remembered he had already fired the shotgun. His father was in the throes of death. "I wanted to watch him die. Yeah, I guess I enjoyed it."

Anthony replaced the gun and patted the mattress. "Why a clown?"

Jack shrugged. "My mom was always scared of them. She, uh, had a bad experience with clowns once."

"Is that right? Was your dad one of them?"

Jack laughed. "No. Maybe it would have been better for her if he had. Then she wouldn't have been miserable with him. And most importantly, I wouldn't have been born."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Ever been suicidal?"

"No. You'd think I would be."

"Most people in your situation are. But you're all about self-preservation. That's a good thing. But keep that in check when it comes to certain people."

"You mean I should be ready to kill myself for someone else? Ha!"

"Joe's fucking pissed at you. All he needs is to hear your name and he goes berserk."

"He deserved what he got. He shouldn't have beat me up. He shouldn't have stolen my knife. He shouldn't have thrown my wallet where someone found it. He got caught because of what _he_ did. If he hadn't beaten me up, he would be a free man. As it turned out, well, here we are."

Anthony nodded. "Well, you know, think about what you want to do. You're not going to end up a freeloader here. No one does. Everyone does their work and gets their share. Understand?"

Jack nodded.

"While you're thinking about it, I suggest you go for some training in firearms. We have a gun shop with a target practice building about five miles away from here." Anthony paused and looked at Jack. "Did you enjoy firing that shotgun?"

Jack thought about the memory. How loud the bang was. It had shaken the walls. The recoil had left a bruise on his arm. It had shredded his father up like a meat grinder. Jack smiled. "Like you wouldn't believe."

****************************************

Over the next couple of days, Jack didn't see Teresa at all. He thought she had left the mansion.

But much to his surprise, she came knocking on his door.

"Hi." Jack said as emotionlessly as possible, after he got his first reaction of surprise under control. He must have sounded more icy than he intended because Teresa instantly looked discouraged. "I'll understand if you don't want to talk to me," she said quickly.

"I didn't say that. I said '_Hi_'."

"I'm going back to my house."

"Well, thanks for saying goodbye this time."

She looked down, embarrassed. "You were... in jail, and I didn't want to..."

"Bother with me?" He finished unpleasantly.

She swallowed. "I... May I come in?"

Jack opened the door wider and let her step inside. The room must have been more frigid than he thought because she pulled her coat closer around her. Jack shut the door. He looked her up and down, saw that she was dressed in expensive winter clothes and leather boots over black leggings. "You look good."

She cast her gaze downwards. "I have to work it out with my husband."

"Sure," Jack said evenly.

She looked up at him. "You believe me, right?"

"Yeah."

She frowned, appearing confused and hurt at the same time. Jack sat down on his bed and leaning back onto his pillow, folding his arms under his head. "You're not mad?" She asked.

Jack _was _mad. But he wasn't going to admit it. He was going to be as calm as possible. She had obviously come expecting a fight from him. She was expecting him to beg her to stay with him and not leave. She had just used him and now she was leaving again, pretending to want to work things out with her husband. That would never work. Jack had seen that look before. That man didn't think there was anything wrong with his behavior. And she, like a fool, was going back. Jack's voice was level. "I'm not mad."

Jack thought it was arrogant of her to think so, that he would be mad. What? He could have just been using her too. He could have used her for sex like she had used him.

He could have. But he didn't. Jack forced himself to stop poisoning her image in his mind. "Well, that's good. I'm glad you're not mad." There was no arrogance in her voice at all.

"It's not your fault, you know," Jack said quietly. He was staring straight ahead, at his door. "It's mine. I kissed you first. It's not your fault."

"Well, I shouldn't have--"

"It's okay. Your place is with your husband. Just go." There was no animosity in Jack's voice, and he made sure it stayed that way. He kept his eyes on the door.

Teresa came closer to him and sat on the edge of the bed. "I really enjoyed our time together."

Jack looked at her at last. He didn't say anything, letting the words hang in the air. She was expecting him to return it, he knew it. And he had enjoyed it too. Every moment with her.

She patted his leg. Jack heaved an involuntary sigh. He cleared his throat. "Don't make this hard. Just go."

Teresa nodded. She looked relieved that there wasn't going to be any friction. She stood up and kissed Jack on his forehead. "Bye Jack."

"Bye."

----------------------------

_Grrrr..... Too much normal stuff? Was the Joker ever really so normal? I'm starting to get frustrated. _


	43. Guns and Explosives

_I _really_ didn't know what to call this chapter. _

----------------------------

_**Chapter 43 - Guns and Explosives**_

"Jack, you're working too hard. This is not going to help you become better."

_Bang. _

"I'm not tired."

_Bang_.

"I know. You're past that. Take it from a guy with thirty years' experience. Just take a five minute break."

"I'm doing fine." _Bang. _"Shit."

"That was an easy shot. Listen, we all need a break from time to time."

Jack finally lowered the rifle. He pulled a thick glove off with his teeth and rubbed his eyes. Taking the glove out of his mouth, he said, "Okay, I'll admit defeat."

Ramos laughed. "Come on. Want a beer?"

"Sure."

Within a few minutes, they were next door, settling down for a couple of pints. Ramos took a swig and pointed at Jack. "You strike me as a guy with too much pent up energy."

"Oh, I didn't know you were a psychologist."

Ramos chuckled. "Listen. You've been here two days straight. Past closing time. Twelve hours each day. You need something to spend your energy in a better way."

"I like the range."

"Are you working?"

"No."

"There's nothing better than earning a living you know."

Jack shrugged. "Eh."

"You don't believe me."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I knew a guy once who earned an honest living. Wasn't such a great guy. Wasn't such a great living."

Ramos tapped the bar table. "Listen, if you're interested, I know a guy who can hook you up with a job. It's hard work, but at least you'll sleep well at night."

"What makes you think I already don't?"

"Anthony has told me some things about you."

Jack sipped the beer to stall for a moment. "I should have known."

"Have a habit of sneaking out at night?"

Jack shifted in his seat. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Problem?"

Jack looked at Ramos sharply. "Yeah. I don't like being analyzed by strangers."

Ramos put his hands up. "All right. No problem. If you'd like, I'll tell my friend that you'd like to take the job."

"What kind of a job is it?"

"It's a mining job. They give you training for about a year. Pays all right. You live on site. They got a little town right next to the mining site."

Jack nodded. "I have one question. Will I learn to work with explosives?"

Ramos laughed. "You bet."

**********************************

_**Some years later.**_

Jack stood outside on the side of a gravel road. He was waiting for the bus. Bouncing on the spot, he blew onto his gloved hands. He pulled his hat down and rubbed some feeling into his ears.

A fellow miner joined him after a few minutes. "The bus is late again?" He gasped. He had come running. He stopped to catch his breath. It fogged in the air in great white plumes, just like Jack's breath. "Fuck it's cold."

Jack wasn't really in the mood to talk. His mind was preoccupied with last night. _Biggest mistake you ever made, asshole,_ he told himself again.

"Oh shit," Josh muttered suddenly. "I forgot my lunch. Alice packed it right in front of me, too."

Jack made no response. When was the last time his girlfriend had packed lunch? Three years ago? Four?

Josh didn't seem to notice that Jack wasn't eager to chat. "I guess I'll have to join you at the diner."

Jack clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Much to his relief, he saw the bus coming down the gravel road. The Gravel road ended in a cul-de-sac, where the bus turned and came to a stop in front of Jack and Josh.

They both stepped onto the bus and it pulled away before they sat down.

Josh sat down expecting Jack to sit next to him. But Jack simply walked right past him and sat in the back. Jack heaved a sigh of exhaustion and leaned his head back. The bus ride took about thirty minutes, giving him the only other time of the day to sit in silence. It was the only time he had to rest his mind, without someone constantly bothering him about something or the other. He wasn't going to waste it listening to Josh's mindless ravings about his perfect life.

Jack pulled his gloves and hat off, tossing them to the side. No one was sitting in the back, except one guy a few rows in front of him. He rubbed his calloused hands together to generate heat. It was pretty cold on this bus too. He couldn't wait to get to work. He completely forgot about his home.

Silence on the bus was great, but too much of it was tensing and caused him to start feeling anxious. That had been getting worse. Ever so slowly, but it was worse than before. He had had one last night. All because of a bottle of beer and an argument. He rubbed his eyes. He wished he could just get some sleep. He hadn't slept at all last night. He had felt like he was going to have another attack. All night he had waited, dreading that horrible feeling. As the night wore on he couldn't take the pressure anymore. He had drank more beer. But he couldn't drink it out of the bottle like his father used to. He poured it into a glass. He had retreated to the porch and fallen asleep outside in the icy air. He had woken up shaking and freezing.

Jack couldn't understand what had happened to his life. The job had started off well. He had received training for more than one year. He had wanted to learn more about the explosives, thus earning him the still unofficial title of explosives engineer, or a blaster. He hadn't gone to school for any of his training. All of his experience had been gained on the job. His superior had suggested several times that Jack go for schooling to learn more.

Jack didn't think that school was going to teach him anything he hadn't already learned. He had checked out every book the local library had to offer on explosives and mining. He even had his own collection of books on chemical make-ups of different kinds of explosives. He experimented in his own backyard on different types of rock. His girlfriend hated all the noise. He didn't understand how, since more noise came out of her own mouth than what was generated by the small explosions. Her noise was mostly whiny complaints or just her screaming at him. Just thinking about it made him tired.

Jack glanced out of the window and he noticed with mixed feelings that they had arrived at the mining site. He saw excavations already going on. It was only about seven in the morning. Some trailers lined the edge of the mining site, and there were a few portable lavatories lined up at a right angle with the row of trailers.

Jack jumped out of the bus with a yawn and followed the rest of the men to the equipment shed for construction hats, worker vests and shovels.

Jack's superior called him to the side as he walked out of the equipment shed. "Mornin' Jack."

"Hey, Ian."

"We have a problem in that section we worked on yesterday."

Jack felt a little smug. "I told you about that yesterday."

Ian pulled his hat off and scratched his head through the winter hat. "I know. It was all right until this morning. It's a good thing it was so early. No one was here yet except a few guys that had just arrived. Then all of a sudden we hear this rumbling crack. Then dust comes flying out. We have to do it all over again."

Jack shrugged. "It's not such a big section to dig out again. It's just a couple of days' work."

"My deadline is in two weeks. We have about a month's worth of work to go. What the hell am I going to do?"

Jack shook his head. "I don't know. Hire more guys?"

Ian winced and squeezed his eyes shut. "I know, I know. That's my only alternative. Listen, I'm sorry I didn't listen yesterday. I should have."

"Listen, don't worry about it. I wasn't really sure myself either."

Ian put his hat back on and looked questioning at Jack. "I'd like to talk to you about a sponsorship."

"What kind?" Jack was quickly suspicious.

"I want to send you to school. I think you'd benefit from more education. Instead of doing this you'll be in a classroom for a few years. What do you say?"

Jack's suspicions disappeared. This wasn't anything new. But having more time to think and less time to expend his energy to the fullest extent wasn't appealing to Jack. "Listen, you've been saying this for all these years. I don't want to go back to school, all right? I have this job, and well, I've been promoted over time and I've got pretty good benefits. I don't want to leave it."

Ian looked around and called Jack to one of the trailers. This was Ian's office. "This actually isn't my idea."

"Then whose is it?"

Ian glanced at Jack. "Do you remember Anthony?"

Jack frowned. "Anthony?" He couldn't even remember for a moment. "_He_ put you up to this?" Jack demanded loudly.

"Shh. He's inside."

"He's _here_?"

"Yes. Come on. He says he hasn't seen you in years."


	44. A Nice Surprise?

_**Chapter 44 - A Nice Surprise?**_

Jack stared at Ian for a moment longer, growing angrier by the second. Everyone was scheming something behind his back. They had a plan for him and didn't let him in on it until the last minute. He tore his hat off and slammed the trailer door open. Left here to rot with his scumbag girlfriend and then Anthony comes along out of nowhere like some fucking hero.

He looked almost exactly the same, except for his clothes and hairstyle. His hairline had receded ever so slighly. Anthony smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he did so. Jack walked in, furious. "What the hell do you think you're doing, planning my life out for me?"

"Nice to see you too."

Ian walked in looking embarrassed and nervous. Jack spun around. "I can't believe you'd go behind my back like this."

"Honestly, Jack," Anthony said calmly. "I thought you'd be happy to hear you're getting out of this place."

"I'm not happy about anything that's done behind my back," Jack replied quietly. His hands were trembling. He knew he wasn't all that mad about the current situation. But in addition to last night, he just couldn't take anything more.

"Well, I wanted it to be a nice surprise."

Jack gritted his teeth. "A nice surprise?" He mocked. "You want to surprise me? Why don't you go to my house and take my girlfriend out for me? That's a nice surprise." He was actually a little serious.

Anthony rolled his eyes a little and looked at Ian. "Would you mind leaving us alone for a minute?"

Ian looked immensely relieved. He nodded and exited as quickly as possible. "Since when do you have trouble taking people out yourself?" Anthony asked after Ian left.

"You leave me here in this fucking miserable little town and what? I'm supposed to be happy to see you? What the hell happened to what you said? I'm special? You need people like me? Do you feed everyone that bullshit?" Jack tossed his hardhat noisily to the hollow floor. "What? What the fuck do you want from me? I'm not going to school. So if that's what you're here for, you can forget about it."

Anthony came nearer and his face grew serious. Jack glared at him as he put his hands on Jack's shoulders. "First of all, you need to calm down."

Jack shoved Anthony back, and he stumbled against the desk. "Don't fucking tell me to calm down!"

Anthony caught himself against the table. Jack snatched his hat up viciously from the floor. He gave Anthony one final, venomous glance and started to leave.

Anthony came over quickly and stopped Jack from opening the door. "Listen. If I get rid of your girlfriend for you, will you do it?"

Jack looked at Anthony. "Stay out of my life."

Anthony poked Jack in his chest. "Hey. Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" Jack rolled his eyes, looking away. Anthony pushed him a little. Jack bumped into the trailer wall. "I give the orders here. I'm a nice guy. And I've always been nice to you." Anthony reached under his coat, behind his back and pulled out a pistol. "See this?" Jack looked warily at it, but he was quite sure that Anthony wouldn't shoot him. Anthony shoved the nozzle under Jack's jaw. "Does this feel good? Huh?"

Jack didn't answer.

He removed the safety. "How about this?"

Jack stopped breathing. He wasn't so sure anymore. Anthony was starting to look like the loose cannon that Jack felt like. Jack shut his eyes from the pressure of the situation.

Anthony didn't move away. Instead he moved closer and put his face right in Jack's, pushing his chin upward with the gun. He pressed his left hand to his throat. Jack started to breathe again, feeling claustrophobic and desiring air. "Feeling good yet, Motherfucker?"

No. Jack wasn't feeling good at all. When Jack didn't answer, Anthony pulled the gun back and cracked it against Jack's cheekbone. Jack gave an "Aw!" of pain and Anthony let him go as he stumbled away, holding his face. Anthony exhaled to calm himself and replacing the safety, he put his gun away. "You're coming back to Gotham. Leave tomorrow. And the next time I pull my gun out on you, I'll shoot. And you _won't _die right away. Remember who I am."

Jack held his face and frowned in pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, and his ear was ringing.

Ian was nowhere to be seen when Anthony opened the door and left. Jack's face was wet with blood and swollen. He closed Ian's door and sat on the trailer step, cradling his head. Okay, mouthing off was a bad idea. Jack retreated to one of the portable lavatories and checked his face in a murky mirror. He looked like someone else on the injured side of his face. Jack shook his head and wiped the side of his face with toilet paper. Fuck this hurt. But he had had worse. He wondered if his bone was cracked. A quick examination with his finger tips revealed nothing out of place. Anthony knew what he was doing, even if he was a prick.

Stepping back out of the restroom, Jack walked back to the storage shed to pick up the equipment he had dropped there. Ian was there, talking to another blaster. Ian's eyes widened when he saw Jack. "What the hell happened to your face?"

"I'm quitting. I'm not coming to work anymore. I'm moving back to Gotham City. Tomorrow."

"You can't quit now," Ian said, incredulous. "You're one of our best guys. I can't lose you."

"Just watch me. This is my last day." Jack started walking towards the mine pit. Ian ran after him. "Hey. Can't you ask for just a while longer?"

Jack shook his head resignedly. "No."

"Jack, please try."

"He almost broke my fucking jaw. What the hell do you think he'll do to me if I ask for more time? He was pissed already, and his orders were, _Tomorrow_."

Ian sighed. "I'm sorry. He told me not to tell you anything."

The day passed with a couple of successful explosions. After that there were mostly excavations as they shoveled dirt into trams and carted it away.

Jack left work on the bus when it was dusk. The cold was starting to get stiller and cut right through his clothes.

Josh noticed the horrible swollen cut on Jack's face, but didn't say anything. The fact that Jack was not interested in talking was finally starting to sink in through his thick skull.

Jack dozed off on the bus. He didn't want to leave this job. He dreaded going back. This mining work was his only refuge. He had actually been hoping that he would get killed in an accident before Anthony had ever summoned him again. But after seven years, at twenty-five and about a thousand explosions later, Jack was still doing fine. Not even a single finger had been blown off. He just happened to be good at his job. And he had also stopped thinking about ever getting called back to Gotham.

When he arrived home, at around seven at night, his live-in girlfriend was already there, still dressed in her waitress work clothes. She was sleeping on the sofa, with a bottle of beer on the coffee table and about three of them on the floor, all empty. Jack was thankful for small graces and retreated to the bedroom to change out of his clothes. Then he went into the bathroom to get a better look at his face. The left side of his face was blue, black, and red around the small gash. He thought he needed stitches, but he wasn't going to go to a hospital or clinic. He was pretty sure the doctor in this town wasn't properly licensed to treat people. Or even animals for that matter.

Jack had received minor injuries over his years at the mine, and had eventually purchased a high quality first aid kit to patch himself up. He trusted himself more than that doctor. Jack didn't usually stitch his cuts unless they were on his legs or somewhere he could hide them with clothing. Tilting his face to the side, he placed an alcohol-soaked paper towel on the cut, gritting his teeth. Then after the alcohol had dried, he pulled the edges of his cut together and sealed it with some butterfly bandages. They were transparent, and were less conspicuous than black sutures.

Jack held his face straight through the still-stinging alcohol. He smiled at himself in the mirror he remembered punching his leg furiously when the alcohol had burned like hell's fury under that bridge. It had been almost ten years, and Jack had sustained many injuries since then. Although none had been as serious as when his father had broken his shoulder, some of them had been quite bad. He was used to pain now. He bore it with a calm disposition. He could work all day in the mine with a torn tendon or a sprained muscle. He had done so on a few occasions, much to the dismay of his boss. _These sort of things catch up to you. You have to take care of yourself. _Jack had brushed off the statements. He didn't care. He didn't care if he was in a cave-in and it took days for him to die. He didn't care if he breathed in toxic, underground gases like methane and died of that. He didn't care if he ended up injured for life, legless, or paralyzed.

Jack showered after this, feeling the hot water warm and soothe his cold, tired body. He closed his eyes in the shower, feeling drowsy. After a long time later, he finally stepped out, dripping wet.

With a towel wrapped around his middle, he walked back into the bedroom and found his girlfriend sitting on the her side of the bed, pulled her work clothes off. "Why didn't you wake me?" She asked over her shoulder.

"Bad day."

"Oh." She turned away and took her blouse off, then her bra. Jack stared as she undressed fully. He pulled the towel away from his body and dried his hair. Then he joined her on the bed, and stroked her back. Her body was warm. Jack couldn't understand what had happened over the past four years he had been living with her. Moving in together had been a terrible idea. He was sure that everything would have been okay if they had lived in separate homes. Jack moved nearer and kissed her shoulder. She reached back and pulled his head close in a hot kiss. It was a good time now, since she was still a little under the influence of the beers.

Jack sat behind her and wrapped his legs around her, feeling her arch her back, pushing her butt into his groin.

At rare times like these, Jack was glad they lived together. He rubbed his hand on her leg, and she undid her hair, brushing his damp face with the sweet scent of her hair. Jack kissed her gently at first, then more forcefully, and she enjoyed it. The alcohol was doing it's work well. Finally she turned into him and they eased into a lying position.

Some time later, she was on top of him, dozing off. Jack stroked her hair and decided to wait until morning to tell her that he had to move back to Gotham, and that she was welcome to come along if she wanted. She was not going to take this well.

-------------------------

_I just realized I didn't name her yet. Probably in the next chapter. Jack is twenty-five years old, in case you missed it. I put it in the chapter. That makes Bruce Wayne about nineteen. Remember his life is going on as Jack's is. Bruce is in Princeton University. In two years, Bruce will be back in Gotham in time for Joe Chill's bail hearing. You know the rest from "Batman Begins". _


	45. Bunker Industries

_Author's Note: I did a little bit of research on mining before I wrote these past two or three chapters. Thank you all so much for reading and keeping up with my story. I don't think it would have ever gotten this far if no one was reading it. _

_**Chapter 45 - Bunker Industries**_

Jack woke up in the middle of the night, unable to go back to sleep for thoughts of having to leave the mines. He had known from the beginning that taking Anthony's bait had been a bad idea. Now here it was, blowing up in his face. His girlfriend Erin, was still asleep. A glance at his alarm clock told him it was exactly three in the morning.

Jack stood up out of bed and walked into the living room. After sitting on the couch for a while, he started to entertain the idea of just leaving. He didn't want to deal with explanations to Erin. Just thinking about it was exhausting. She didn't know much about his past, and it wasn't like he kept a scrapbook. She couldn't even look him up if she wanted.

Jack stood up and went into the kitchen for a notepad and a pen. He started to write a note to Erin to tell her that he had to leave and that he'd send money. He read over it, thinking it sounded like the situation was too serious. He scrapped it. He started to write another one, but ripped it up before even writing anything more than _Dear Erin_.

Jack tossed the notepad and pen onto the counter and went into the bedroom. He switched on his bedside light, and she didn't stir. All that Jack decided he needed was his money and some clean clothes. He'd probably come back in a while anyway. Jack pulled an old backpack down from his closet and snatched up some clothes. He left the room to get dressed and then came back for more clothes. Making sure he had his wallet, Jack returned to the kitchen to write her a proper note.

_Dear Erin_

_Don't be scared. I'll be back. I have something I need to do back in Gotham. I'll call you as soon as I get there._

Jack stopped writing and pulled his switchblade out of his pocket, then put it on the kitchen counter.

_You know this--_

"What are you doing?"

Jack jumped at her voice, but quickly regained his composure. "I was writing a note."

"Why? What's your backpack doing here?"

"Listen." Jack stood up and picked up the knife.

Her eyes glinted with sudden fear. "What are you doing?" She demanded backing up a step.

"What?" Then Jack gave a chuckle in realization. "Come here. Keep this with you. I have to go to Gotham City."

She looked at the kitchen counter, then the switchblade. "You were going to leave without telling me?"

Jack sighed. "I was. But look, I'm just going for a while. I'll be back."

"You're not coming back," she said, frowning. "You were just going to leave me."

"That's why I'm giving you this," Jack said, pointing at the knife. "Just keep it okay? You know how important this thing is to me. I'll come back."

"How long are you going to be gone?"

"I have no idea. I'll call you. Once I get a bit settled, well, you can come stay with me if you want."

"Jack, what's going on? Why are you going like this?"

"I can't explain it. I have to go. I have to be there tomorrow."

"But why?" Her voice cracked a little. Jack shut his eyes briefly. Forcing a calm voice, he said, "Just please trust me. I'll send you money. I'll be back." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Don't go," she pleaded. "Don't go like this. Tell me what's going on."

"I can't right now. I'll call you. I promise. You know how I keep my promises, right?"

She couldn't argue with him then, even though he could tell she really wanted to. "Did you get hurt again in the mines?" She brushed his cheek with her fingers.

"Yeah," Jack lied.

He kissed her again and picked up his backpack. Then he was out of the door.

*************************************

Jack had a long way to walk. There was a bus terminal at the edge of this town, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why in a town where there wasn't even a large, modern supermarket, there would be a bus terminal.

The terminal was completely deserted, except for a single person at the ticket counter. He was reading the paper. Jack approached him and the man appeared a little frightened by the latenight visitor.

Jack was able to buy a ticket after the guy realized that Jack wasn't going to shoot him and take all the money - probably a total of about sixty dollars - from the register. The bus wasn't going to get there for another two hours, at six in the morning. Jack tried to spend the waiting time sleeping, but failed. He was too wired up from anxiety.

Gotham was about three hours away by bus. That was the only way to get there, through the highways, because the closest airport was _in_ Gotham.

When Jack was finally on the bus, he was able to get some much-desired rest from the lulling rumbling of the vehicle as it travelled over the road.

Someone kindly poked him awake as the bus pulled into the station. Jack grabbed his things and stepped out, at around nine in the morning. He had lost all his old numbers. He hadn't bothered to keep in touch with anyone. All Jack had was an address, and that was the Moxon Estate.

So Jack hailed a cab and took a ride back to the mansion. The cabdriver seemed to know whose mansion this was, and he waved at Jack when he tried to pay him the fare. "No charge."

"Take it, you idiot, I'm a worthless soldier here," Jack replied, annoyed.

The cab driver looked dumbfounded at Jack threw the money in the front passenger seat and got out at the gate.

The security guard was the same one as seven years ago, and he warmly recognized Jack and gave him a powerful handshake. Jack wasn't interested in old acquaintances, he had business to attend to. Jack was a bit more polite, but drew the conversation to a close before it even started.

Jack walked quickly down the lengthy driveway and stood at the front door. He used the special knock that Anthony always used, and the door opened quietly. Richard stood there, looking as old as he ever had. Jack suspected something had happened to him. Maybe they were working him too hard. Maybe he was getting to old to do the work he already had been doing. Whatever the case was, Jack was shocked to see Richard smile at him. In the whole two years he had lived here, Jack had not seen him smile _once_. "Hello, Sir. Welcome back."

"Thanks."

"May I take your things?"

"Oh yeah. Sure. Is Anthony here?"

"Yes, Sir. He is in the dining hall. Would you like me to take them to your old room?"

"You mean it's still empty?"

"It was vacated yesterday, Sir, especially for your expected arrival."

"Oh."

Richard left right after placing Jack's backpack on the floor next to the dresser. Before leaving, he said, "Master Anthony took the liberty of preparing your attire for you." Richard paused seriously. "I strongly suggest you wear it, Sir." Jack opened his closet and saw a pair of crisp black slacks and a gray-and-black shirt with a gray blazer over it. Jack washed up and dressed in the clothes set aside for him. His hair was not long anymore. He had cut it when he started working in the mines. He found that it was too much trouble at the end of the day to clean, especially after getting dirt encrusted in his locks along with the sweat off his back.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair and tucked the stubborn locks behind his ears in an attempt to look tidy. Some of the strands were too short and stuck out over his forehead. He hated the clothes he was wearing. They made him look too formal, and he couldn't have been more grateful that there was no tie. To soften the severity of the clothes he left his collar wide open, and his shirt untucked. He gave up trying to fix his hair and went into the dining hall, which was a highly private room, with no windows and two heavy wooden doors with bolts on the inside. Although initial appearances didn't suggest it, Jack knew the room was soundproof, to prevent anyone from eavesdropping on important conversations.

The door was already open for Jack, and Anthony was standing, waiting by the door. When Jack walked in he shut and bolted the heavy door. Anthony then joined a seated man that Jack had never seen before, although he did look quite familiar. He was rather heavyset, with a balding head and an expensive-looking gray suit. He wore rings on the three middle fingers of both hands. They were all gold and had rubies, emeralds and diamonds. Jack guessed that the man was trying to make Jack uncomfortable with his appraising gaze. These things usually didn't work with Jack.

"How's your face?" Anthony asked.

Jack made no reply, feeling it would be better if he kept his mouth shut, especially since last time had gone so badly.

Anthony gestured to the seat opposite himself, on the left side of the man. "It's nothing personal, okay? Just orders."

Jack sat down quietly, chewing the inside of his mouth.

The fat old man extended a hand to Jack. "Welcome back to my humble home."

Realization finally hit Jack. This was the notorious Lew Moxon. He took the man's hand and shook it firmly. "Thank you, Sir."

Moxon leaned in closer, his chest pressing against the edge of the table. "You want a doctor to take a look at that? Something might be broken."

"No, Sir. I...uh...checked it out myself. It's just a bruise." He looked at Anthony pointedly, still despising him for hitting him.

"You hungry? Thirsty?"

Jack was starving. "No."

Moxon smiled hospitably, but his eyes were cold black stones. "It's okay. If you're hungry Richard will get you somethin'. Don't be nervous. Tony, go get him, will ya?"

Anthony nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind himself.

Moxon sat there, deep in thought for a minute or so. Jack knew it wouldn't take so long to summon Richard, and knew that all of this was so that the Don could speak to Jack in complete privacy. Finally, the Don started to twirl a ring around one of his fingers. The ring was obviously too big for the finger, and Jack couldn't see how that was possible, since all his fingers were fat like sausages. "So tell me what you do."

Jack frowned slightly. "I'm a miner."

Moxon chuckled a little. "Give me a little more detail."

Jack looked down at the table. "Well, I do a lot of excavation. But I generally work with explosives. I dig holes and wire the explosives in the holes. Then use a non-electrical pulse to discharge them."

"Non-electrical?"

"Yes, Sir. So that the dynamite isn't set off before we're ready. Sometimes that happens because of water run-off from storms or even a little bit of rain."

"Do you make these explosives yourself or do you buy them wholesale?"

"I sometimes assemble them myself. But all the parts are always wholesale."

Moxon tilted his head and looked at Jack. Then he heaved into a standing position. He was remarkably short, his stomach round under his suit. "You want a drink?" He asked as he walked to a small cabinet mounted on the wall.

Jack stood up out of respect. "Yes, Sir."

Moxon gestured for Jack to sit back down, which he did. "So, would you be able to make these explosives if you had raw materials?" He asked as he poured a little bit of whiskey into two glasses.

Jack hesitated a little, but he said, "Actually, I already have. I like to...experiment in my backyard."

"Have you experienced any success?"

"Well, yeah. I have."

"Have you made any new explosives?"

"No. Not that I've really tried. It can be pretty dangerous."

Moxon sipped at the whiskey and sighed as the alcohol burned his throat. "I have a job for you. You know out by the Gotham Light and Power, there are a lot of factories. You ever been over there?"

"No."

"Well, they have an arms and explosives factory over there. A small one, called Bunker Industries. I want you to get settled there. Get really comfortable. Then we'll talk again. I also want you to enroll in a school that certifies people in working with explosives. You're going to need it if you ever want to climb the ranks at that place."

Jack nodded. He obviously had no say in the matter.


	46. Catching Up

_**Chapter 46 - Catching Up**_

Jack walked out soon afterwards, bidding farewell to the lord of the estate. Inside Jack was fuming. He was surprised - although he realized he shouldn't have been - to see Anthony standing guard at the door. "How'd it go?" He asked, a little patronizingly.

Jack gritted his teeth. "Fine," he muttered.

"Hey, it's really nothing personal, all right?"

Jack pushed past Anthony and stalked back towards his room.

Anthony called after Jack mockingly, "You sure you don't want a doctor?" Jack heard him laugh a little.

Jack flung open his door and slammed it shut hard enough that it shook the walls. Someone in the room next to him yelled through the wall, "Hey, watch that door!"

Jack walked up to the wall that he shared with the person on the other side and kicked it over and over just to piss the other person off.

Jack was still kicking at the wall furiously when someone started banging at his door. Jack threw the door open. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" The person demanded. He was a young man of about eighteen or nineteen, short and thin with brown hair.

Jack snatched him by the collar and shoved him out of the room and against the wall of the hallway. "Don't mess with me, I'm warning you," Jack hissed dangerously.

The guy's anger was snuffed out when he saw how livid Jack was, and he raised his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, man. Just... could you please not kick my wall? I'm trying to study."

Jack pushed him roughly and retreated to his room. He forced himself to shut the door quietly.

He tried to take a calming breath but he couldn't even remain calm for one exhalation. He tore his blazer off and slammed it to the floor. It hardly made any noise. And he wanted to make so much noise. He wanted to shake the walls and feel his throat vibrate from the power of the sound. He wanted to crush the house to rubble and breathe in the scent and particles of dust. Jack grabbed his coat and stormed out of the mansion.

It was probably a good thing he didn't have his switchblade, otherwise he might have knifed that stupid short nerd for sure. Studying. Ha! Like that's what mattered in this entrapping society of mob bosses and drug lords and convicted felons. Jack pitied that stupid fool for believing, even for a moment, that studying was going to get him anywhere. Maybe he would eventually learn, the hard way, that whoever had the bigger gun or the greater amount of money was the one that always won.

********************************************

About two months later, on a cool spring morning, Jack was stepping into the garage, still half-asleep. He had been back to be with Erin over the weekends, while he wasn't at his new job, or now, at school. Jack was seriously under-rested, and he was pretty sure that driving under these conditions qualified him as suicidal. Well, if he was, he was too sleepy to care. Maybe if he crashed the car he would _finally_ get some rest in a quiet hospital room.

When he reached his car and opened the door, he let out an enormous yawn and rested his head momentarily on the roof of the car. He made a mental note to get some coffee on his way to the school. Then Jack slid into the driver seat, started the car and leaned his head back. His eyelids closed of their own accord as he thought, _God, I'm tired..._

*****************************************

"Hello?"

Jack slowly came awake and he felt someone moving right in front of him. Jack sat up straight suddenly, making his neck crack. "Ow!"

"If you wanted to take yourself out breathing in carbon monoxide, you should be in a smaller garage."

Jack was fully awake now, but no less tired. "Teresa?"

"Hi."

Jack jumped out of the car and she laughed and gave him a friendly hug. Jack returned the hug enthusiastically, feeling his heart swell. "You look beautiful!" He remarked.

She blushed slightly. "Well, you look good too, except for the fact that you look really tired. Is everything okay?"

Jack reached into his car and took out the keys. "Let's not talk about that right now." Jack smiled and embraced her in another tight hug. "It's so good to see you."

She rubbed his back fondly. "You too, Jack." She looked at his car. "Were you about to go somewhere?"

"Well, I don't know how long I was asleep, but I'm sure I'm late now. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I'm actually here on business. You want to get some coffee or breakfast or anything?"

"Yeah, sure. Actually I was on my way to get some coffee before class."

Her eyes widened. "You're going to school?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Orders. They even gave me a new job. Can you believe it?"

She smiled, a little sadly. "I believe it. Why do you think I even show my face around here? Same as you. Orders."

Jack started to get back into the driver's seat. But she stopped him. "You're not driving. Come on. _I'll_ drive. We'll take my car. You can take a nap."

Jack nodded in agreement, deciding that sounded like an excellent idea. And sure enough he fell right to sleep.

They were still in the car when he woke up, and his seat was reclined. He couldn't remember doing that. Jack sat up groggily. "Where are we?"

Teresa was reading some finely typed papers. She held the sheets down against the breeze from the AC. "We're just at a park. I decided to just let you sleep."

Jack glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "I have to be at work in thirty minutes."

"You can take a day off."

"No. I can't. I'm still in the middle of my training. How will it look if I don't show up? I could get fired and then who knows what Moxon will do."

"Don't worry about my father, I'll tell him it's my fault."

Jack felt like they were back together years ago. He had thought about her from time to time, but had put her out of his mind after she had decided to go back to her husband. He didn't want to think about her and he didn't want to want her because of what she did. It didn't matter though, he still did anyway. He couldn't understand how it was possible, but she was more vibrant than before. She didn't look older. The only thing different was her hair, which was no longer a reddish brunette, but a brownish gold. She had made bangs for herself, and they brushed her slightly smoky eyes. He wanted to grab her and kiss her but he decided that probably wasn't a good idea. Thinking of this made him feel slightly mournful.

"You want some coffee now?"

"Sure," Jack replied, snapping out of his thoughts.

Teresa tossed the papers into the backseat - which was still a mess - and started the car. She drove into the parking lot of a small diner and they walked inside. After a while they were settled in a booth by the window, with cups of steaming hot coffee and two large plates of breakfast. Jack wasn't saying much, since he was still thinking about that day in Cathedral Square. He couldn't believe how clearly he remembered it all. He was sure it must have been more traumatic for Teresa.

"So, what do you do now?" She asked. She had brought along some paperwork to read at the table. She closed up the folder and gave him her undivided attention.

"I work as a miner. I guess you're still doing the same old stuff."

"Yeah," she said wearily. "I want to stop. I'm sick of all this stuff."

"What exactly are you sick of?"

"I'm an accountant, right? Well, my dad, being who he is, I have to..." She lowered her voice and leaned in. "I have to cover things up for him financially. That's all anyone thinks I'm good for."

"Did you want to be an accountant growing up?"

"No. I... Actually I can't even remember what I wanted to be. What about you? Did you see yourself doing what you're doing?"

Jack sipped at his coffee, thinking. "I never gave much thought to the future. After my dad--" Jack stopped. He realized he had never told anyone that his father had wanted to kill him.

"Yes?"

"Well, I just never think about the future."

Teresa frowned. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing. It's not important."

She gave an awkward smile. "Of course it is. You were just going to say something about your father."

Then Jack remembered that she had no idea that he was a murderer. Still, after all these years. The only people that knew for sure were Anthony and now, Moxon. Jack couldn't see Anthony hiding anything of such importance from Moxon. He felt worse than he had in the car, when he had wanted to kiss her but knew he shouldn't.

"I don't want to talk about him."

"Jack, you can tell me anything. I'm not... a stranger."

Jack sort of understood what she was talking about. They had been brief lovers, and he knew her secrets, the darkest of which was an abusive husband. No, she wasn't a stranger to him, but he _was_ a stranger to her. Maybe he could just tell her one big thing about his father. He didn't have to tell her everything. "After my dad... He tried to kill me. He was going to kill me first. Then my mother."

Teresa absorbed the information in silence. She stared at him, and he looked away from her gaze. "Don't look at me like that. I don't want your pity."

She blinked and glanced out of the window. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. How old were you?"

Jack shrugged. "Sixteen."

She widened her eyes, horrified. "You were just a _kid_?"

Jack ignored the question and said, "Well, when something like that happens, you stop thinking about the future."

She stroked her hair and tucked it behind her ear. "That's quite traumatic."

Jack shrugged again. "I'm used to it."

"Well, how old are you now?"

Jack chuckled a little. "Twenty-five. How about you?"

"Ugh. Thirty-three."

Jack was surprised. "You are? I really thought you were younger. When we were together I thought you were only like, twenty-three or something."

"No." She giggled. "So are you engaged or married or anything?"

"No." Jack paused before asking the real question he wanted to put to her. "What about you? Are you still married?"

She lost her smile. "Technically, yes. But we're actually separated."

"Really? You finally left him? What happened that finally made you do it?"

She gave a weary sigh. "A while after the last time we saw each other, less than a year, probably, we got into a really bad fight."

Jack knew all too well what 'really bad' was. He had seen it and experienced it for himself. He wasn't too surprised, but felt the urge to protect her still, even though everything was already over. "What happened?"

She took a deep breath and came out with it quickly. "He put me in a coma."

"He _what?_"

"A coma. For about a month. That was when I decided it was enough."

"You mean you had to almost die to get the idea to leave him?"

She suddenly looked insulted. "You know, not everyone runs away from their problems, Jack."

Jack had a feeling she was talking about him indirectly, but he let it slide. "But your life was always in danger. Sooner or later something was bound to happen. Didn't you realize that already?"

"I tried to make it work. I was raised Catholic. I tried so hard. I just didn't want it to end in divorce."

"Well, you're still not divorced."

"I know. I've been putting off talking to my lawyer about starting in that direction. It's much easier to just be separated."

Jack thought of Erin just then. Although he was so tired all the time, it definitely was better to live apart from her than with her. Yup, Jack could definitely relate to that feeling. "You're telling _me_."


	47. The Deer Trophy

_I watched some videos on Youtube to do research for this chapter. Really interesting stuff. _

_**Chapter 47 - The Deer Trophy**_

Jack didn't hear a word of chastening from anyone back at the mansion. Teresa was true to her word. He wasn't sure what she had told her father, but as far as he knew, she was an only child and Moxon was predisposed as a father to spoil her. So Jack wasn't chided for not coming into work without giving notice. They all acted like nothing had happened.

The next day, Jack was well rested and he knew Teresa had something to do with it. He had slept with her in her bed. They hadn't had sex. He had wanted to, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want sex to ruin it this time like it had all those years ago. She seemed immensely content with just lying with him, with her head on his shoulder and her arm over his stomach. He was sure she slept well too.

He didn't give much thought to Erin, and didn't even think he was doing anything wrong, because it felt too good to be with Teresa. Erin's natural tendency was to be suspicious, so Jack was used to it after all these years. Every weekend now, when he went back to spend some time with her, at least once she would bring up the fact that he was so far away from her for so long, and who knows who he's spending his nights with. Jack usually brushed it all off. _You're paranoid. Stop being so jealous. We're in a committed relationship. We pay bills together. _

She had gotten so bad that she often started crying about it. Nothing had actually happened - he couldn't believe it himself, Teresa and he had not even kissed - and it was maddening to be around Erin when she was so upset all the time.

A third month away from her, and Jack couldn't take her behavior anymore. He told her cautiously and regretfully that he wasn't coming this weekend, but lied about the real reason behind why he didn't want to go back. Erin said nothing for a moment, like she wasn't surprised by this. Then she hung up the phone. Jack called her back a few times, and she didn't pick up the phone. Then about the fifth time that he called, he knew she had unplugged the phone. Jack spent a few minutes rethinking his decision. When the few minutes was up he got dressed and went to Teresa's room. They were going out for dinner.

****************************

At his new job at Bunker Industries, Jack was being trained in making rifles and the ammunition. But since he was new, he wasn't given the responsibility of making rifles on his own, but only with a more experienced person watching and guiding him. They started with the barrel and worked their way out, while another person already had the body of the rifle ready. The majority of the rifles were custom-made, either for law enforcement or leisure hunters. At the end of the day, because his boss knew he enjoyed it so much, Jack was the one who was able to try out ballistics shields and bullet-proof vests by firing at them from point-blank range. It was especially gratifying after a long day. It was even better than the shooting range, because he wasn't shooting pieces of white cardboard with targets on them, but was actually shooting a ceramic bust wearing the vest. He felt almost felt like he was shooting a real person.

However, the range had it's own pros in addition to the cons, and Jack felt himself getting better with his aim. He wasn't sure why Anthony still insisted that he learn to perfect his aim and familiarize himself with all kinds of weaponry. Especially guns. Anthony even helped Jack take some time off work and went hunting with him. Jack bagged himself a large male deer with a set of antlers so magnificent that they wouldn't have fit through a doorway. He only fired his rifle once. The rest of the bullets he had brought along were not necessary.

About two or three weeks from that day, Anthony brought along the deer head mounted on a dark, wooden plaque for Jack to put in his room. But Anthony said that the head could go in the Moxon trophy room. He said that some people found a dead deer's head too eerie for their liking, especially at night. Jack said there was no way in hell that deer was going anywhere but in his room. So he gave it the place of honor, on the wall right at the foot of his bed, above the bedroom door. It had been a tight fit, and the antlers were actually touching the ceiling and the plaque of wood rested on the door frame. One inch longer and Jack would not have been able to open his door without knocking down the deer head.

Jack admitted to himself the first night that it was definitely creepy to have the enormous head looming above him, turned to the side so that the creature's right eye glinted at him accusingly in the moonlight. As he fell asleep he could have sworn the head moved.

************************************

_Jack was underground. He pulled his shirt off, and it was soaked with sweat. Swiping his forehead with the back of his forearm, he continued to use a jackhammer against the lower part of the wall. There were portable lights all over the floor, giving him excellent visibility. _

_"Jack, two minutes."_

_He nodded absently and continued to hammer away. His teeth rattled against each other, so he turned off the machine and rested for a moment. He was feeling so hot. Maybe he should take a breather. _

_"Jack, one minute."_

_He nodded again lay the jackhammer down, and pulled his gloves off. He felt overheated. Sweat dripped down his body and stained his pants. He had to get out of here. He didn't feel good. He actually felt a little nauseous from being so hot. _

_Then he heard someone yell, "Everyone out? Okay!"_

_Jack realized they were going to blast something inside. And he was still inside. "No, wait!" He yelled. _

_Jack lurched into motion, dodging debris from the excavation and carts still filled with dirt and rocks. "Wait!"_

_Jack could see the opening when he heard a deafening rumble, then _felt _it. He staggered and fell down to his knees. He looked up in horror and expected the worst. He got the worst, all right, and he could no longer see the opening. Jack leapt up to his feet. He knew another one was coming, and sure enough, there it was again. The ground quaked and Jack stumbled into the wall. Clumps of dirt and rocks fell on him from above as the cave shook. It was impossible to tell which direction the explosion came from. But when he turned away from the opening to search for some support beams under which to get cover, Jack saw that the second explosion had happened behind him. Dirt still rained from above, and Jack saw the only remaining set of beams buckling. There was nothing he could do. The other beams were buried in dirt and the last ones... If he hid under those, when they broke that would kill him. _

_Running out of time, listening to the creaking wooden supports, Jack turned to one of the carts and groaned with effort as he tried to turn it upside down. He could hide under it. But he only managed to tip it onto it's side when the beam cracked. _

_It happened so slowly. He heard each splinter, saw each chunk of wood separate from the main beams and fly outwards. The tons of dirt seemed to turn into mud as it collapsed as one entity. Jack dove head first into the cart and felt his bones shatter like the wooden beams under the weight of the loosened earth. He screamed out loud, his voice hollow and cut off inside the iron cart, as darkness covered him up more soundly than the dirt. _

_Then he felt nothing waist down. His back was broken. _

_Jack felt his sweat running warmly over his face as he breathed hard. His arms were free, but he couldn't budge his body. He elbowed backwards, and for ever pound of dirt he pushed away, another ten pounds pushed back into him. Now he was up to his neck in moist earth. It was in his mouth and stinging his eyes. He could feel the dirt crawling into the folds of skin on his nape, under his chin. Every breath he drew in was followed by dirt creeping closer like spreading tar. _

_He could see nothing but blackness. Jack's air was already growing stale. He was breathing too hard, too fast. He groaned and tried to inch deeper in, and his face hit the muddy bottom of the cart. It was cold and smelled rich and like roots. The dirt behind him pushed its way in further, having a life of its own. His arms were completely covered in dirt, and now his hands were pressed flat against the metal next to his face. _

_Jack couldn't get enough air. He sucked in the air as deeply as he could, feeling his lungs straining to absorb anymore oxygen left in the cramped space. _

_Then he felt it. The dirt to which his face and hands were pressed turned to warm liquid. He tried to pull back further, but was unable to do so. He didn't know what it was, but knew that it felt horrid. The liquid flowed over his face and his nose, down his chin. Soon it was filling up the tiny space, drawing level with his chin, then his lips. Jack choked and bubbled, tasting it. It was blood. He gave a scream of disgust and horror, writhing against it. "Don't shoot me," he heard a watery voice beg. The liquid was creeping closer to his nostrils. Jack's reply was a gurgle in the blood as light flooded his vision. He saw his father's broken and bloody face pressed right to his. His cheeks were uneven and his nose was bent crookedly to the side. His face was filled with pain. His eyes were bleeding and the blood from his mouth flowed into Jack's. Jack squeezed his eyes shut..._

_*************************************_

Jack's face was pressed into the pillow, and he woke up with a start. His body was still stuck in the dream, and he couldn't move right away or soon enough. He still felt like he was trapped under the severe weight of the dirt, although the only thing on top of him was the blanket. He kicked his leg and forced himself shakily upwards, and turned onto his back. He sucked in deep breaths of air, starving for oxygen. He stumbled to his feet and threw open the window, feeling the icy cold air sweep over his damp body. Then he slid to the floor and tried to calm his heartrate down. He glanced up at the unfamiliar object above his door and saw the deer's menacing majesty. Jack stood up and turned the lights on, in an attempt to stop the deer from staring penetratingly at him. He went to his closet and pulled out the one tie he had in there. Pulling his desk chair to the door, Jack stood up on it and used the tie as a blindfold for the dead deer. Maybe having it in here wasn't such a good idea.

--------

_I was actually trying to go somewhere else with that dream, but I like it this way better. It turned out way creepier than I had initially planned. _


	48. Parole Hearing

_First of all, I can't believe it, I have never had this many reviews for anything I have ever written!! Two hundred! Thank you all __**SO**__ much!! _

_This has a scene from Batman Begins. I know it's there, but I don't remember the scene at all. I'm pretty much making it up as I go, so although this is basically what happens, it won't match the movie. Christian Bale will never really be Bruce Wayne or Batman to me. He's always American Psycho, and he was way more attractive in that movie, as brutal and murderous and crazy as he was. But I did think of him while I was writing the court scene, because he is very capable of playing a dark person with brooding, malicious thoughts. _

_**Chapter 48 - Parole Hearing**_

Jack stood by the window after blindfolding the deer head. He wiped perspiration away from his hairline, still seeing the ghastly image of his father. He had forgotten. While he was doing it, it hadn't looked so bad, since he had watched the progression of the injuries. But at the interrogation, he had seen the crime photos and the effect had been a shocking one. But this dream seemed to skew the whole thing out of real proportions and made it into something other-worldly, monstrous, evil. More than the image, the thing that bothered him the most was the blood. It had been thick and fluid, but clear of debris, apparently not having the ability of clotting like normal blood does. It was everflowing.

He rubbed his eyes and finally focused on the swimming pool. It was empty. Teresa had not taken any dips in there since he'd seen her. He had kept a watchful eye just incase. He wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to see her half-naked. Or _all_-naked, he could settle for that. Okay, so he was a pervert. But what guy wasn't?

Jack dabbed away more perspiration that dotted his nose. He liked the quiet. Just now. It was peaceful and it wasn't suffocating like his dream. Jack wished just then that he had a TV in his room. The murmur of a television was sometimes grounding in reality. So he left his room and went into the den nearest his room. There were two or three dens, he wasn't sure, but he only used one. It was a room with a faux fireplace and stone walls, complete with a bear rug and plush leather sofas dyed a deep red.

Jack stopped in the doorway when he saw what was on TV. He shut his eyes briefly and turned his head away. "You have got to be kidding me," he said over the amply-busted woman's low moans. The volume was very low, but still audible.

The person on the sofa jumped and hit the mute button. Then hastily changed the channel to something with a lower rating. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jack walked in, starting to forget about his nightmare. He laughed at the guy on the sofa, who had a square cushion over his groin. He looked up at Jack, humiliated. "You can't do that to a guy, man, come on."

Jack shook his head and sat on an armchair. He glanced pointedly at the black remote control. "I know not to touch _that _from now on."

The guy scowled. "I don't jerk-off in here." Jack knew him from years ago, but they weren't really friends. "Can't a guy just watch some good old-fashioned porn without being interrrupted?"

"For some guy who doesn't want to be interrupted, you're definitely asking for it sitting in this den."

"It's three in the morning. What the hell are you doing up?"

Jack shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. I thought the TV might help."

"Nothing's on."

Jack gave a mocking smile. "Clearly."

The guy sighed. "Don't tell anyone, all right?"

Jack hadn't dreamed of it. Truly. "None of my business." He waved his hand dismissively.

The guy looked untrusting, but couldn't help risking a little relief anyway. He cleared his throat. "What do you want to watch?"

"The news."

The guy sniggered, then saw the look on Jack's face. He was dead serious. The guy lost his smile and changed it to the local news channel.

Jack settled back into the armchair and put his right ankle over his left knee. After a few uninteresting pieces of news, Jack heard what he had been waiting for. He had heard something about Joe Chill. His parole hearing was coming up soon. It was still months away, but it was creeping up on Jack. If he was released for parole, well, he was coming after him. He knew it.

The guy finally looked at Jack. "Scared?"

Jack gave him a grim glance. "No. Concerned."

The guy snorted. "Yeah right. You know he's a contract killer, right?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Thanks for stating the fucking obvious."

"So, why _didn't_ you kill them when he told you to? Did you chicken out?"

Jack hated the first question. People _always_ asked him. And the second one? That was even more common. He hated that one even more. Jack's answer was more complicated than a simple yes or no. So he ignored it and stared at the TV.

The guy nodded. "You did chicken out. Well, at least it kept you out of prison. I'd rather keep my nutsack though."

Jack took the slight on his manhood in silence. He gripped the arms of the chair, digging his fingernails into the leather.

The guy laughed. "Relax, I'm just bustin' your chops."

Jack couldn't relax. His thoughts came back to his dream, and how he killed his father. There was so much blood. How could so much be held so precisely in one body?

"Seriously, though. Why didn't you shoot him?"

Jack looked icily at him. "If you want to keep your nutsack you'd better stop talking." This was a fully legitimate threat, and his look must have made it clear to the guy. He studied Jack, testing him to see if he really would follow through. Jack continued to glare, daring him to say another word. The guy must have enjoyed his late-night porn sessions more than jabbing at Jack with his curiosity. He stopped, put on a look of disinterest and turned his eyes away. "I'm going to bed."

"Bed, sure."

The guy stood up. "Shut up."

Jack grinned. "Have fun."

He threw the cushion at Jack. "I told you to shut up."

Jack shrugged and mimicked his words back exactly. "Relax, I'm just bustin' your chops."

*************************************

It was the middle of summer. Jack was sweating like crazy even in the air-conditioned car. Drops ran down his nape, under his shirt. He had picked the worst day to wear black. The sun glared in through the back window right on his back. His shirt burned his back every time he moved.

He was only too happy to get out of the car. Anthony told him he'd be there. So, Jack walked in, expecting to see him around outside the courthouse. But he was nowhere to be seen. The hearing was supposed to start in about thirty minutes.

Knowing he had a little while, Jack walked into the court lobby, and a cool burst of air hit him from inside. He hunted down the men's room and cooled off in there with some water from the tap and dried his face. As he was doing so, a young man stormed in, and did the same thing. He was about the same height as Jack, but definitely younger by a few years. He had perfectly coiffed brown hair, too stylish for someone who was so young. Jack felt a wave of disgust. Looked like a rich prick. But his expression was haunted and all wrong. Didn't match his clothes and hair. Jack didn't think rich people were capable of suffering. And what struck Jack the most was the fact that he was wearing a black blazer, on such a hot day, over a white shirt and dark gray pants. His shoes were definitely too good for someone so young. Jack stalled for more time by wetting the paper towel he was using and ran it over the back of his neck. The guy looked familiar.

Jack had started staring without realizing it. He felt like he was looking into a mirror, at his own face in someone else's features. The guy turned his head towards Jack and glared. "What do you want?"

Then Jack knew who he was. He had changed a lot. But then again, maybe not so much. He had just grown older. He was more like Jack than he had ever thought possible. Jack always thought no one was like him. And here he was, harboring all the same things, with good reason. "Bruce Wayne?"

Wayne looked Jack up and down. He narrowed his brown eyes suspiciously. "Are you the press?"

Jack frowned. "No way. I just... I just recognized you, that's all."

Bruce tore off some papertowels and dabbed his own face dry, scrutinizing Jack as he did. "Have we met before?"

Jack quickly looked away. Those brown eyes were sharp and piercing. Highly intelligent. Jack knew he was just like him. And Jack could see it. He was angry. He needed an outlet. Under that cool exterior, only his eyes betrayed a wildness. Jack thought the guy looked like he was going to snap. "No," Jack said hastily and turned to leave. But Wayne grabbed his arm. "Wait." Then complete recognition dawned in his eyes and his rage disappeared for a moment. "It's you."

Jack pulled his arm away, embarrassed. Then he changed the subject. "I hope he doesn't make parole. I'm sorry about your parents."

Bruce's fury returned. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one. "He won't." He threw the papertowels away and left the restroom, leaving Jack standing there wondering what the hell that meant. He had reacted like he hadn't even heard the second sentence. He wasn't even thinking about his parents. Bruce was thinking about revenge. And Jack knew it.

In about twenty minutes, Jack walked into the courtroom and discovered Bruce sitting there, alone. People had given him a large space all to himself. They all knew who he was. They all knew he was here to hear the fate of his parents' killer. He sat there with his jaw in his left hand, propped on the arm of the wooden court seat. He was next to the aisle, with a good view of the defendant's stand.

Jack sat a few rows closer to the front, so he would have to turn and look over his right shoulder if he wanted to see Wayne. Jack wouldn't have really cared that Wayne was there, except for the crazy look in his eyes. He couldn't understand how no one else picked up on this. He was practically radiating waves of visible energy just sitting there, deep in thought, staring into space.

Within the next few minutes, the hearing got started. Joe didn't see Jack, but Jack saw him. He looked older and haggard, tired of being in prison. But the killer wasn't gone. He was inside, itching to get out and destroy Jack. He started to act like he was remorseful. Jack glanced back at Bruce, and he saw his jaw working as he gritted his teeth together. His right hand had been on his leg, but now it was in his jacket pocket. Jack frowned and looked back at Joe, who was still talking.

Jack had stopped listening though. He was highly distracted by Wayne. Then his attention turned fully to him when he started to stand.

But there was already a person the back, who raised his arm. Jack knew what was going to happen before it did. He saw the gun. The man standing in the back fired the gun twice. People screamed and more than half of them ducked down between the rows of seats. Bruce Wayne was not one of them. He was standing to full height, and still had his hand in his pocket. His eyes were wide open as though _he_ had been shot and hadn't yet collapsed from the wound. Jack stayed ducked down, and risked a look over the seat in front of him. Officers starting ordering people to stay down. Chaos broke loose. People started running out, banging the doors open and stumbling over one another and screaming in terror. Jack stayed down. He looked at Joe, who had his eyes cringed in pain, blood spreading over his chest.

Bruce Wayne stood there, stunned, unable to move. The man who had fired the shots had already left the courtroom in the frantic mess that had ensued.

The room was emptying out quickly. Jack raised himself into an almost standing position. Bruce was not moving. He watched Joe Chill die and slip under the defendant's stand. He pulled his hand back out of his jacket pocket. It was empty, and the hand was clenched into a tight fist. Jack could see that his whole body was tense. Bruce swallowed hard, his eyes twitching and stepped out of the row of seats. He was in his own world. In a daze, he walked out of the courtroom.

Jack was reluctant to follow, but he did anyway. However, he avoided contact with him. Bruce walked outside stiffly, and Jack watched as he continued down the street, then broke into a run. After one block, Jack stopped and let him disappear from sight. He didn't understand how Bruce felt. He couldn't understand how it felt to have the only chance for revenge taken away forever. After all, that hadn't happened to him.

-------------------------------------------

_Okay, the scene is not like the movie at all. I honestly don't even remember one frame of that scene. Who cares. I loved writing this whole scene. _


	49. Call Me Miss Giordano

_**Chapter 49 - "Call me Miss Giordano"**_

Jack stood there and watched until Bruce Wayne disappeared from sight. He was sprinting, causing cars to skid to a dangerous stop, and drivers to blare their horns angrily.

He turned around and went back to the car he had arrived in. There was a lot of press hanging around, crowding the courthouse stairs and snapping photos, and filming reporters stating in slightly shaky voices that there had just been some gunshots within the building. This case was hot news, and now, after they had heard the gunshots, it was even hotter.

The chauffeur was waiting outside, leaning on the car and reading a newspaper. Jack realized he had to get out of there quickly before cops showed up. He told the driver to haul ass, and they did. He didn't want to deal with any of the cops.

In the car, on the way back to the Moxon Estate, Jack reflected indifferently on Joe's abrupt death. Maybe there was a reason he had looked so tired, like he hadn't slept at all in recent nights. Maybe he had been afraid of being shot. Maybe he had known. Well, at least Jack didn't have to worry about Joe coming after him now. He wondered who the killer had been. If not for him, Wayne would have been the killer. Jack knew it. There was no hesitation in him. And he wasn't thinking the consequences. He just wanted to _kill_. Jack recalled that same feeling. And he had had the satisfaction. He kind of felt sorry for Bruce. Not because of his state of mind. Not because his parents were shot dead before him. But because he didn't get the vengeance he had wanted. _Now __**that's **__going to fuck him up_, Jack thought.

He remembered he was responsible for the incarcerations of two other men. Andy and Brutus. They hadn't struck Jack as the vengeful types. Just slightly dim in the head, but capable of causing havoc if given the chance. They were followers, not leaders. In the years that Jack had lived in the mining town, he had forgotten all about them. Only Joe gave him cause for worry that he would come along and kill him in his sleep.

Joe's killer had been a man in his forties. Stone-faced and wearing a hat. He wondered how anyone had gotten into the building with guns, especially since there had been metal detectors built right into the entrance. There had been a guard's desk, but no guard when Jack had gone inside. Both of them must have used different entrances. There had also been guards outside pushing back the hounding press and repeating, "No reporters. Please. No cameras. No press allowed inside." Bruce Wayne was kind of a celebrity around this city, so that explained his suspicion when he asked Jack if he was a member of the press. He must have entered through a side door - if not to avoid detection of his gun - to get away from the blood-sucking reporters. _Those people have so little mercy, they make __**me **__look like a saint, _Jack thought distastefully. _What a way to get kicked when you're down, to have your whole life torn open with a bone-saw like a dead body on an autopsy table and then have the remains taken out and studied under a microscope with a hypocrite's eye... _Jack was glad he wasn't famous.

**********************************

Jack had been working at his job for almost a year now. He was getting better at everything at a rapid pace, and although Moxon had not asked him for a status report, he knew something was eventually expected of him. So when Jack's supervisor told him he was getting a small promotion, Jack was relieved. He was being given the position of over-seeing one section of the floor he usually worked on. It would be up to him to maintain the times that the machines were run, cleaned and re-supplied. He was also in charge of taking weapons specifications from clients and sending out catalogs to prospective buyers.

A few days after the promotion, Jack requested a meeting with Moxon to let him know that he had proceeded thus far. Moxon's true reaction was well-hidden, even from Jack, who prided himself on being able to easily read people. He simply nodded, said, "Good," and invited Jack to join him for dinner with his daughter. The idea of eating dinner with Moxon wasn't bad at all. All they would do was discuss business. But with Teresa there? The thought made him crazy with worry. Did this guy know anything about their relationship? They were just friends now.

However, his worries were set aside when Moxon started asking Jack detailed questions about his job. Teresa was there dressed in something abnormal - a slate-gray pant-suit - and she had brought a large planner and a pen. Jack hadn't been aware that this was going to be a business meeting. They didn't even act like father and daughter. They acted like a client and accountant, and although this was strange, it put Jack at ease.

Then, most graciously, although feigned, Moxon said, "I'm sorry I've been keeping you in the dark for so long."

Jack wasn't sure what to say. So he remained silent.

"See, the reason I want you there, to be good at your job, is because we need someone inside a place that can give us ammunition. It's not so easy to always buy our items wholesale. We have some gun stores, but that's not enough. When you climb to a certain point in their company, you'll be in charge of all the incoming and outgoing shipments. When you're there, we'll arrange a way for you to help us more efficiently. Miss Giordano will be your advisor and liason. She is a fully licensed accountant and you'll keep her updated regularly. Do you have any questions?"

"Not really anything. I was just curious though, about why you don't already have someone there doing this for you."

Moxon smiled knowingly. "I have someone there. But he doesn't know you're working for me. I won't tell you who it is. That's not important. He's basically gotten a big head over these past years. He's gotten into the habit of threats. See, he's trying to get a bigger amount for the weapons we buy from him. We all have a budget you know." Moxon was the only one eating heartily, and he used a piece of bread to wipe the marinara sauce off his plate. "He'll get what's coming to him."

"I see." Jack nodded. There was no doubt in his mind that Moxon intended to eventually have that man killed. He didn't want to ask any questions to Moxon. However, since Teresa was going to be his advisor and liason, he decided this question was more appropriately directed at her.

She was stoic, a different person. Everyone here had this going on. Secrets. Layers. One layer for each situation, another for each person. It was worse than multiple-personality disorder, because these people were sane by psychological standards. They were doing this on _purpose_. When Jack was going to ask her the question, he started, "Teresa..." But she looked coolly at him and said, "Mister Napier, please call me Miss Giordano."

Jack stopped, briefly stunned. He was not used to her being so cordial. Nevertheless, he could do that too. He had been doing that for years. Hiding everything. Never letting anything on his mind touch his face. It was easy. He waved his hand easily, as though he had made a simple mistake. "I'm sorry, Miss Giordano. I was just wondering how often you need me to update you on the shipments."

Closing her planner, she replied, "It all depends on how often you need shipments for your normal clients. The more clients you have, the more often you need to have me updated." She looked sharply at him. "Never forget to send me an update. That is of the highest importance."

Jack felt somewhat belittled by her expression, as though he had already done something wrong. He started feeling out of her league again. _Wait. We're just friends. Right?_ He cleared his throat. "Absolutely."

"Good," she said curtly. "You don't want to _know_ what happened to the last guy that forgot to send me an update."

Jack wasn't sure if she was being funny or not. He was weary already. He didn't like being this way with her. "Okay," he said quietly.

She stood up and picked up her things. Then she left without saying goodbye.

Jack had barely touched his food. Now, however, it gave him an excuse to sit there without saying anything. He forked a small amount of pasta into his mouth. Moxon picked up his napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth. He took a large swig of merlot and set the glass back down. "You listen to what she says. She knows what she's doing. She's damn good. We're lucky to have her."

Jack swallowed his food "Yes, Sir." _But she hates what she's doing._

After the meal, Jack searched around for Teresa and found that she wasn't around. Her car wasn't even in the garage. Terribly disappointed, and somewhat frustrated, Jack returned grudgingly to his room. He had some studying to do.

**********************************

After about six months of Jack working in Gotham, Erin had stopped giving him heat about him being so far away. The following six months were easy and pleasant, and Jack was mildly enthused about going to visit her. The weekend after the meeting with Moxon, Jack found himself with Erin, going out for a movie with Josh, his old co-worker, and his wife, Alice, on an cold winter night. They shared popcorn and then dinner afterwards. They joined Josh and his wife at their home for some drinks. While Erin and Alice disappeared to chit-chat, Josh and Jack downed heavier drinks.

Josh had a dart-set, and Jack kept himself occupied by throwing the darts. His aim was completely screwed up from drinking so much, but he didn't care. Finally, after standing and swaying for about an hour or so, marking permanent holes into Josh's wall, he collapsed onto a kitchen chair. Josh had disappeared and Jack didn't even know where he had gone. Jack sat on the chair, feeling immensely dizzy. The remaining darts slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor as his head tilted backwards. The room spun again and he jerked back to sit forward, feeling the rush of the alcohol that had headed to his brain. He shut his eyes and felt even more whoozy. That was a bad idea. He snapped his eyes back open and bent over to pick up the darts.

Then Jack slapped himself to draw himself to alertness. He didn't know why he allowed himself to get to this point. He didn't even like being here. He was going to leave. Where the hell was Erin?

Jack stumbled out of the kitchen and found Erin and Alice watching TV. He couldn't make his eyes stay focused. The clarity came and went, but mostly it was gone. The women were a disapproving blur in front of him. Jack leaned on the door frame. "Let's go home," he murmured.

He saw Erin pat Alice goodbye on the arm, and coming over, she fished the car keys out of his pocket. He looked down, confused for a moment.

"What are you still doing with those?" She asked as she pulled the darts out of his hand.

"Huh?"

"Come on, let's go."

Jack didn't wake up until the next morning, Sunday. Erin wasn't in bed. She had probably gone to work.

His head felt like it was trying to split open. And he was ravenously hungry. He tore up the fridge looking for food, but only discovered small amounts of leftovers from Erin's own meals from work, some fried chicken and potato wedges. Jack was finished with those in no time, and he ate them cold. He didn't even want to wait to heat them up in the microwave.

Rinsing the cooking grease off his hands, Jack returned to the bedroom to get dressed. He was going to get more food. He opened his closet and pulled out a pair of ordinary work jeans he used to wear all the time to the mines, and a T-shirt. He started putting it on, when he realized it wasn't his. Jack pulled it off completely and took a closer look. It definitely _wasn't _his. He took the hanger out of the closet and hanged the shirt back inside.

_Now __**that **__explains her behavior,_ Jack thought, not the least bit surprised.

He pulled another T-shirt out, one of his own, and put it on. He searched around the bedroom for his switchblade. After a quick search, he discovered it under the dressing table. He guessed it had probably been sitting with her make-up, but when it had fallen on the floor, she hadn't noticed, so hadn't picked it up. He had missed it so much. Jack pocketed the familiar object into his pocket and patted it. At least this could always be trusted.


	50. Finally Free

_**Chapter 50 - Finally Free**_

Jack didn't come back to the house. He went straight to Gotham. He skipped getting more food. He could get food at the bus terminal.

He had already collected his shotgun months ago, and now, his final, most important possession was now comfortably settled in his pocket. Good thing they had never gotten married.

The longer he stayed on the bus, the more Jack kept telling himself, _I should have known_. He felt stupid. He wasn't insulted or anything. He didn't care that she had been cheating for what appeared to be about six months. He didn't even really like her anyway. The point was, he should have _known_. Finding out this way made him angry with himself. He wasn't angry at all with Erin. He should have been more suspicious when she had stopped bothering him about being with her. He hadn't given it much though, thinking that, perhaps the impossible had happened, and she had finally gained a seed of maturity. "Stupid," he muttered under his breath. He drew a couple of glances from the other bus riders. _Nope, same old Erin_, he thought sardonically.

Arriving at the mansion roughly around lunch time, Jack dropped his weekend bag in his room and went straight to the kitchen. Teresa was outside, pacing around, talking on her cell phone. Jack left the warmth of the kitchen, and took some strides towards her. He waited for her to finished the conversation. She ended it with, "I'll pick you up myself," not taking her eyes off him.

When she hung up, he asked, by way of saying hi, "What the hell, _may _I ask, was all that last night?"

She sighed. "Long story. Bad habit. Makes things easier to act like we're not family."

"You fucking weirded me out."

"I'm sorry. You don't have to call me Miss Giordano."

Jack smirked. "Don't ever call me Mister Napier. That was my father."

She looked down at her cell phone. Then Jack noticed she was somewhat tense. He waited for her to speak. "What are you doing today?"

"Nothing much. It's Sunday."

"Okay. I need you to come with me. It's a... really personal matter, but I don't think you'd mind. I just don't really trust anyone else."

Jack frowned a little. How unusual. This made him like her even more, feel more at ease around her. _No_ one in the world trusted him. Even _he_ didn't trust himself after finding out about Erin in the manner that he had. "I don't mind. What is it?"

"Well, I haven't told you about this, but I've been working with my lawyer to get a divorce settlement for about six months now. Every session has been so difficult, my ex-husband is just doing his best to drag it out. But it's actually finally over. There is just one thing left to do, and that's empty out our safe deposit box. We need both our keys, and we both need to be there."

"Were you just talking to him now?"

"Yes, I'm going to go pick him up. I want you to come with me."

"Why doesn't he just meet you there?"

She shook her head, and her expression darkened. "He totalled his car."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "On purpose?"

"I think so."

"Okay, I'll come with you." He walked with her to the mansion. "If I wasn't here, who would you have taken?"

"I don't know. I think I may have just waited for you to have some free time. It shouldn't take more than an hour. Or I might have taken Anthony."

"I just want to get my jacket, all right? I'll meet you in the garage." They met up in about five minutes, and Teresa was wearing a short casmere wool coat with a shirt and black pantyhose. She wore burgundy, velvet heels. Jack was wearing his work jeans and an immensely heavy, brown leather jacket.

In about twenty minutes, they were almost there. "Why would he want to deliberately total his car?"

"It's actually not his. It's mine. But I was planning on signing it over to him because he always drives that car. But it was still in my name, so, my insurance goes up now."

"Too bad he didn't die," Jack muttered.

Teresa neither agreed nor disagreed. Jack knew he had said it loud enough for her to hear. Teresa agreed, he knew it. She just didn't want to say it out loud.

When they reached the front of the house, which was crammed next to two other houses with a short driveway and a garage, Teresa stopped the car and took a deep breath. "Wait out here, okay?"

Jack leaned forward and looked at the house, and the four or five porch steps with a metal railing. "This is where you used to live?"

She nodded. "Long time ago."

He noticed a flowerbed, which held nothing but dirt and long-dead plants which were now mere twigs. "Did you used to have a garden?"

"Yes. He let them all die though. He actually hasn't been doing much this past year."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I think this divorce is hitting him hard. He's lost a lot of weight and he actually stopped going to work. He keeps begging me to 'come back home.' He actually keeps thinking I'm coming back one day."

Jack already knew this was just a facade. "It's a trick."

Teresa made no reply.

Jack continued. "Just one time, my mother left my dad for about two weeks. She was at a friend's house or something. I don't remember. I was pretty young. My dad was the same way. He didn't eat much, and kept calling her work number. I was pretty much non-existent to them. Once she stopped answering her phone, he would try to connect to her phone through the switchboard. Even those people eventually refused to connect him, he was calling so much." Jack paused. "It's all an act."

Teresa looked unsure. She was staring ahead at the street. "I don't know," she said finally. "It looks real to me."

Jack took Teresa's hand off the steering wheel and squeezed it. She looked at him with sad eyes. "It's all an act," he said firmly. "Trust me."

Teresa took her hand away and sighed deeply again. "Let me go get him."

Jack nodded. "I'll sit in the back." _Just incase he tries something. _

Teresa stepped out of the car and walked nervously to the porch. Jack watched as she knocked on the door. The door opened and she said a few words, then glanced once at the back window of the car and went inside. Jack rolled his eyes. He didn't understand why she was going inside. He opened his own door and waited with a foot on the pavement. He was considering going inside the house. He couldn't let her go in there alone. Not with someone so unstable.

Jack finally made the decision and stepped out, and was about to shut the door when Teresa's cell phone started to ring. Jack reached in and picked it up out of the drink-holder. "Hello?" He answered as he made his way to the porch.

"H--Hello? Who is this?" It was a woman.

"This is Teresa's phone. I can tell her to call you back."

"Oh... Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of hers." Jack realized that the woman sounded stressed or worried. "Is something wrong? Is there an emergency?"

"No, not really. I just wanted to check on her."

Jack had reached the door. He had his hand on the doorknob. "Well, she's fine."

She sighed in relief. "Well, okay. That's good. Teresa and I met with her ex and his lawyer yesterday, and I felt like something was strange about him. I just wanted to know if Teresa had noticed."

Jack opened the door and paused in his tracks. "In what way?" He asked, his caution heightening.

He didn't have a chance to hear exactly what the woman said, because Jack heard a scream just then, echoing all the way to where he stood. He flinched, almost dropping the phone. The sound was filled with terror and pain simultaneously. He lurched into motion, stumbling deeper inside, tripping over upturned furniture and garbage and take-out containers. The house was a festering mess, filled with the rotting smell of food and flies buzzing around now and then. Jack's heart was hammering in his chest, and he heard the woman shouting on the phone. Jack froze in the doorway of the kitchen and saw the entire, white-tiled floor strewn with fresh blood. Teresa wasn't screaming anymore, but whimpering in pain as Drew mercilessly held her against the wall, stabbing her in the back repeatedly with a large kitchen knife.

Reacting purely out of instinct, Jack dropped the phone and tackled Drew around the waist, forgetting all about the knife in the man's hand.

Jack slipped on Teresa's blood, but still managed to lift Drew momentarily off the floor and threw him against the kitchen counter. They both slammed hard, and fell to the floor.

Jack attempted to grab the knife away from Drew, who was not even a little bit stunned from the abrupt interruption of his frenzied stabbing. He slashed at Jack with the knife, and Jack dodged backwards, having to almost lie down to avoid being cut by the blade. Drew grabbed this opportunity to overpower Jack and started to stab at _him_, aiming right for his face.

Jack forgot for a moment about Teresa, and held up his forearms to protect his face. Drew thrusted the knife down, trying to get under Jack's arms to cut his face. But Jack's brown leather jacket acted like armor and took most of the cuts and swipes of the blade, although some cut right through the leather and lining, right to his skin. Jack cried out each time that happened, and pretty soon he was shaking so hard it was close to impossible to protect his face. Drew was able to get a few cuts and nicks on Jack's jawline, near his ears and even some on his neck.

Drew seemed to have inexhaustible energy, the same type of enraged adrenaline that reminded Jack of his own father. He was completely relentless, not even questioning Jack's presence, but just dealing with it.

Turning his head away, pulling his left arm further over his face, Jack took a risk and reached into his jeans pocket. Drew changed his tactic and started to swing the knife and slashing motions rather than stabbing, since the latter didn't seem to be working against the leather. Jack gripped his switchblade and flashed it open as he pulled it out. Then he took a blind stab at where he thought Drew's body was.

He made slicing contact with him, and Drew yelled in pain and immediately stopped, backing away into the kitchen counter. He clutched his side as blood bloomed out on his flank. Jack lay there for a moment, then jumped to his feet. Drew still held his own weapon, then looked at Jack with eyes only as hateful as his own father's. Jack felt blood trickle down his arm under the jacket and drip down his fingertips. His switchblade was slippery in his grip, and he tightened his fingers feebly. His hand wasn't working properly.

Jack was hoping Drew was going to give up, but he didn't. He came at Jack again with a yell of fury, his knife-wielding arm raised high. Jack had no problem thrusting his own blade forward, right into Drew's gut, where he knew the stomach was.

Drew froze in midstep as pain clouded his ferocious face and dark blue eyes. His face was streaked with tears, as well as dotted with flecks of Teresa's blood. He had obviously been crying recently. Jack felt a spark of his own rage as he saw his father in him. He felt like he was killing him all over again. Jack gave his knife a jab deeper into Drew's belly, and he issued a strangled moan and shut his eyes. Then he let the kitchen knife clatter to the floor and tried to move back, but Jack went with him, until he backed all way into the kitchen counter. Jack held him in place with his left hand, clutching his sweaty shirt.

Jack pulled the blade out for another vengeful stab, but stopped himself when he felt Drew's weight sinking. He collapsed to the floor, holding his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers and finally a small amount trickled out of his mouth. He was breathing hard, trying to stay conscious. As quickly as his violence had escalated, that was how quickly it died down. Jack let him lay there, and went to Teresa's side. She had sagged all the way to the floor, leaving trails of blood on the wall and a puddle on the floor. She was facedown and Jack noted with overflowing relief that she was still breathing.

The phone had long since started beeping after that woman had disconnected. The noise was distant after the recent battle.

With trembling hands, Jack turned Teresa over and put her head on his arm. Jack brushed his hair out of his eyes, inadvertantly smearing blood into his blond strands. Then he picked up the cellphone and dialed 9-1-1, leaving smudges of blood on the buttons. "Emergency, nine-one-one?"

Jack's voice caught in his throat. He had no idea what to say. "Uh...My friend, she's been stabbed," he choked. "She's lost a lot of blood."

"What is the address, please?"

"I don't know..." he mumbled wearily. He felt lightheaded. The cell slipped from his grasp slightly, bringing his alertness back. Maybe he had lost a lot more blood than he realized. Then he heard it. Sirens. The woman on the cell phone had already sent someone. "I can hear sirens."

"Huh?" Teresa murmured, moved her head.

"You hear sirens?" Asked dispatcher. "Did you already call?"

"I think someone else did," Jack replied quietly, and put the phone down without hanging up.

Then he nudged Teresa. "Hey."

She opened her eyes weakly and rolled them around. She made an incoherent mumble and closed her eyes again. Jack took her hand and squeezed it hard enough for it to hurt. She frowned slightly. "Teresa. Stay with me." Jack glanced at Drew and saw that he had already given up and died. Jack stroked her hair back. "Teresa, stay with me. Don't go now. You're finally free."


	51. A Minor Breakdown

_**Chapter 51 - A Minor Breakdown**_

Within the next few minutes, paramedics and police swarmed the kitchen, and the first thing they did was take Teresa out in a stretcher. They had a stretcher ready for Jack, but he just walked out with a paramedic watching him closely. He was there to help him inside the warmth of the ambulance, and he sat down wearily as he watched the other ambulance being loaded with Teresa's stretcher and drive away, sirens blaring.

Jack watched his own paramedic get in and shut the door. He banged the ceiling a couple of times and the engine started up, and the vehicle lurched into motion.

Then he set about taking off Jack's leather jacket and clothes - which were virtually hanging off his body in bloody shreds - and examined his arms.

"Is she going to be okay?"

The paramedic didn't answer his question, but side-stepped it instead. "They're going to do everything they can. I just want you to relax so I can clean up some of this."

Jack felt like all of that sounded rehearsed.

"Go ahead and lie down on this."

He did as he was told and stared up at the ceiling of the ambulance as the paramedic swabbed away blood and pressed a large wad of gauze to a stab wound on Jack's upper arm. Then he taped it there as a cursory bandage, just to stem the bleeding.

He shut his eyes. He felt nauseous. He hadn't felt this way about the sight of blood in _years_.

_Teresa, don't die._

Jack's ambulance pulled up right behind Teresa's, and he stepped out in time to watch them run with the stretcher through the Emergency doors. He walked with his own paramedic and he was seated in a wheelchair. "I don't need this," he said. But the paramedic replied, "Please stay right there."

Jack couldn't see Teresa anymore. He cradled his face his right hand and sat there, exhausted. A nurse came up to him to get him to sign some papers, both for himself and Teresa, which he did very messily. His fingers were definitely not working properly. After the nurse walked away, he remembered. _My knife_.

He patted down his pocket and rolled his eyes at himself when he realized he had left it behind at the house.

Jack was given a cubicle all to himself temporarily, and they removed everything except his jeans and shoes. They patched him up a bit more and told him he would have to wait to get stitches. When he asked about Teresa they told him she had been admitted to surgery. Then they gave him a hospital gown to wear if he wanted.

Before he knew it, he had been in that small cubicle, with nothing but a curtain for privacy, for over an hour. His bleeding had long since stopped, and he knew he could probably fix his cuts himself. When a nurse finally came by, he asked to make a phone call, and she directed him to a pay phone within the Emergency ward. He pulled on the hospital gown backwards and didn't tie it in the front.

After checking his pockets briefly, Jack discovered that he didn't have any change, and someone else who was waiting for their family member or friend was kind enough to give him some quarters. He called the mansion, and told Richard, the butler, that Teresa was in the hospital and that she was in surgery. He didn't explain too much, and the butler didn't ask either. He simply said, "I'll inform them right away," and hung up the phone. Jack was just done talking when a woman approached the emergency desk and asked in a panicked voice, "Did they bring a woman called Teresa Giordano in yet?"

Jack studied the woman and saw that she seemed to be about Teresa's age, perhaps a few years older. She was wearing a hat and a dark blue coat over a business suit. Before the nurse at the emergency station could reply, Jack said, "Yeah they did. Are you the woman who called her cell phone?" He recognized her voice.

The woman spun to face Jack. "Is she all right?"

He glanced towards a set of doors that led deeper into the hospital. "I don't know. She's in surgery right now."

The woman put a hand to her head. "Oh my God."

"Who are you?" Jack asked.

"I'm her friend. And her lawyer. God, I hope she's going to be okay."

"Me too," Jack echoed quietly.

"You answered the phone right?"

He nodded.

Much to his surprise, she threw her arms around his shoulders and cried, "You saved her life! Thank God you were there."

Jack grew rigid at the unexpected touch, and she quickly let go. She was crying. "I'm sorry. I should have called her earlier. None of this would have happened."

Jack didn't reply, but was thinking along similar lines. _If I had gone in with her, none of this would have happened._

The woman wiped her eyes and shook her head. "She's been through so much with that horrible man. We're been friends for years, reallly good friends. But there have been so many times that she wouldn't talk to me for months at a time." She studied Jack. "You poor thing. Do you want to sit down?"

"It doesn't really matter."

"Did they give you a room?"

"No. Just a cubicle." Ordinarily he wouldn't have wanted any company. But at this time, he discovered an opportunity to gain more information about Teresa's life. Stuff that she was usually reluctant to share with him. "Come on. We'll talk in there. We'll have more privacy anyway."

He sat down on the edge of his bed. The woman sat down on a wooden chair with fabric cushions. "So what's your name?"

"Jack. What's your's?"

"Emily. Have you known Teresa long? I don't remember her ever mentioning you."

"I met her almost ten years ago. But we haven't had much contact until the recent year. She told me only today that she had finally divorced the bastard."

"She stayed with me a lot before, while they were still together. We were roommates half the time. She had her own room at my place. She preferred to come to my place more than her father's."

_That explains why she was hardly around_. _She had someplace else to go._ Jack knew the violence wasn't a rare occurence. It probably happened all the time, just like his own parents.

"But then I got married a few years ago, and she didn't come around as much. I told her it was okay, but I think she was just being considerate, since my husband and I were newly-weds and all. She separated from Drew and got her own place. Best decision she ever made." She paused. "I never understood it, you know, but I think she really loved him."

"I never understood it either." He wasn't talking completely about Teresa, though. He was also talking about his mother.

"I know. It doesn't make any sense."

They sat in silence for a few moments, then a nurse walked in with a cart holding a tray of tools. "Oh, hello."

Emily nodded. "Hi."

"The doctor will be in shortly. It looks like you'll need a lot of stitches."

"Is that really necessary? I can stitch all this up myself. I don't feel like sitting here for another two hours."

"Well, your shoulder definitely needs to be done by the doctor. You can't do it yourself, you can't even see it unless you have a mirror. The doctor will do it properly and make sure that he can get a good, straight scar. Plus he's going to use a local anesthetic. If you do it at home, you're risking bad scarring, infection, and a lot of pain. Just relax, sweetie. It will be okay."

Jack hated being fussed over like this. He wanted to leave.

A doctor walked in shortly and suggested that Emily leave if she wasn't too comfortable with blood.

Emily gladly picked up her purse and left the cubicle.

"Okay, let's see."

Within the next uncomfortable hour and a half, Jack was moved into a small surgery room, where the doctor, with the help of a nurse, explored the cut to make sure it was just on the surface, and washed the wound to avoid infection, and sewed up the severe laceration on his upper left arm, and also administered local anesthesia on his right arm. Apparently, the knife had managed to cut a tendon on his wrist. That was why he had been having so much trouble writing before. The doctor told him to lay down and not look. Jack felt almost nothing as the doctor went ahead and made a larger cut and repeated the procedure of cleaning the wound of debris and then sewed the tendon, then the skin. "The sutures inside will dissolve as the tendon heals. You will have to come back for a follow up to make sure your hand is working properly. There shouldn't be any problems. It was a minor tear." He added some more stitches to his neck and left forearm. "You can use Neosporin to help avoid infection."

The doctor went about applying butterfly bandages to the much smaller cuts all over the rest of his forearms.

When the doctor was finished, he allowed Jack to rest for a while, then he was released from the hospital. Well, on paper he was. But he wasn't going to anywhere. He didn't have anything to wear except the hospital gown. Emily was still waiting in the Emergency waiting room, and she offered to buy him a sweater. She left and returned in a while.

He checked the time and saw that Teresa had been in surgery for almost four hours. He checked at the counter whether she had been brought out, and he was told that, as a matter of fact, she was just being entered into ICU. He tried to go inside, but said that she was just being settled in, so he would have to wait. He waited in the ICU waiting room nervously, relieved that she was okay, but also feeling enormously guilty that he hadn't gone into the house with her. All of this could have definitely been avoided. Finally, a nurse came in and said that he could go see Teresa. She said, "We usually only let family in, but they told me you came in with her."

Jack walked in and saw her on the bed, not as peaceful as he would have liked. She had tubes in her mouth and her eyes were closed. the same nurse followed him inside. "She's going to be like this for a while. If she was awake she wouldn't be able to be still. Her right lung had collapsed completely." She looked grimly at Jack. "She's very lucky you were there."

Jack wanted to go over and take her hand, but he didn't. He still had blood under his fingernails, around his knuckles and in the grooves of his palm. He just stood there, and watched as the respirator did its work and breathed for her. Jack let his eyes wander over the wires and tubes that were monitoring her and keeping her alive. What a mess. All because he had let her go there a few moments ahead of himself. Jack turned away and searched for a restroom. He had to get a look at himself.

He didn't find one for a long time, and he had to wander quite far away from the ICU to get one for the visitors. But there was someone inside. Jack sighed and waited in the hall, pacing back and forth.

As he waited, he saw Emily, tailed by a couple of men. She came over with a large shopping back. "Here is a sweater. I hope it fits. Do you want a ride home?"

Jack hadn't even been thinking about that. He wanted Teresa to wake up. He felt numb and just then noticed that his head was pounding. "No. I'm staying here for a while."

She rubbed his back gently. "Did she get out of surgery?"

"Yeah. She's actually in ICU right now. I just saw her a little while ago."

"Okay. I'm going to go see her. I'll probably stick around for a while too. See you in a while."

The two men came nearer after Emily left Jack and went into ICU. They were Teresa's father and Anthony. Jack was surprised to see Moxon, especially, but not so much Anthony.

Moxon, much to Jack's discomfort, embraced him. Jack just stood there. "You saved my daughter's life." His eyes were as cold as ever, but his voice was catching with emotion. "I have to go see her."

Jack nodded and watched as Anthony passed him with a lingering stare.

Jack waited a couple of more minutes for the person to exit the restroom, then decided they were taking too long. Jack wandered closer to the entrance of the hospital - further from ICU - and found an empty one. He was about to go in when he heard someone call his name from the entrance. Jack turned to look, getting ready to snap, but instead, raised his eyebrows. "Liuetenant Gordon. What are you doing here?"

Gordon came over and shook Jack's hand. "They assigned me to this case because I know you."

Jack looked at the sliding doors of the entrance and saw Schroeder standing there. "They assigned him too?"

Gordon looked over his shoulder. "Don't worry about him. I told the Commissioner I wouldn't work this case if he got involved too much."

Jack sighed softly. "Good."

"How are you feeling?"

Jack stared at the floor. "I've been better."

Gordon sighed in reply. "Listen, I'm sorry to do this to you at this time."

Jack looked at him warily. "Do what?"

Gordon pulled out a sheet of folded paper. "I'm supposed to place you under arrest."

Jack gave a strained chuckle. "You've got to be joking," he replied, his voice cracking.

Gordon shook his head apologetically. "I'm afraid not. See for yourself."

Jack quickly glanced over the paper and looked at Schroeder. The man was wearing mirrored sunglasses, but he had a smug smile on his face. Jack resisted the urge to tear up the arrest warrant, handed it back slightly crumpled, and asked, "Can you just give me a minute?" He gestured to the restroom door. "I want to put this sweater on."

"Absolutely," Gordon nodded.

Jack stiffly walked inside and locked the door. He turned the light on afterwards, flooding the small, white tiled room with harsh light. Jack drew a small gasp when he saw his face. He felt like he was looking at a different person. His appearance was far worse than he had imagined. Most of his face was sloppily wiped clean of blood, especially around the cut-wounds, but there were still dark red lines around his nose, under his lower lip, around the folds of his eyes, in his eyebrows, and there was a _lot_ of blood caked into his hair. "Shit," he muttered. He ripped some papertowels out of the dispenser and soaked them in water. "Shit."

His jawline was marked up with cuts and angry red lines, as was his neck. He looked like he'd been attacked by a band of famished vampires. Jack spent a few minutes washing his face. Then he leaned into the sink and dumped water into his hair to wash out the dried blood. He managed to get most of it out at the surface, but it still clung tightly to his roots. He would need shampoo to get it all out properly. His hair dripped water over his cheeks and into the still-running sink.

Jack's head pounded. He felt like the headache was getting worse. As the hangover passed, a stress migraine was settling in. Jack felt dizzy staring into his reflection. He shut his eyes and splashed more water into his face. As the water ran down his neck and marked the hospital gown with dark patches, he opened his eyes. His vision was blurry now. "Oh, not now," he muttered to himself as the dizziness grew. He gripped the sides of the sink. He felt like he'd fall if he let go. He risked a look at his face in the mirror, and was sorry he did so. The dripping water seemed to melt away to reveal his face paint from years ago. The blackened eyes. The white skin. The wide red grin. He felt like he was standing outside in the rain, watching the water melt the paint. Only it wasn't melting the paint, but his own skin, to reveal the paint underneath.

Then Jack sank to the floor as he felt the room grow dark. The running water was so distant now. It was like falling rain. And he was walking, limping, with his injured foot. Jack buried his face in his hands, getting ready to ride it out. He felt ill, like he was going to die agonizingly. He fought for control over his breaths, over his pounding heart. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Before he knew it, his struggle for steady breathing became a struggle to stop sobbing. His tears mixed with the water and ran into his mouth in warm, salty streaks. He didn't understand what had brought it on. Whether it was everything at the same time or if it was just one thing. He murmured her name, wishing she was awake, that she was okay. He would never forget that it was his fault she almost died.

Jack gave a small cry of surprise when someone knocked on his door. As upset as he was, he was grateful for the noise. It was like a lighthouse in a wicked storm. It guided him, helped him get control of himself. Jack stood up and turned off the water. He wiped his face, no longer shedding tears. He felt ashamed for it, but at the same time, all of his tension that had been within him when he entered the restroom was now gone. Watching himself in the mirror, his eyes a little bloodshot from crying, Jack brushed more water out of his hair and cleared his throat. "I'm coming," he said as evenly as he could. He changed into the sweater and walked out.

Gordon looked at him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

Gordon studied Jack's eyes, appearing as though he wanted to say something else. But he changed his mind and said, "All right. Let's go."


	52. Fun at the GCPD

_**Chapter 52 - Fun at the GCPD**_

Schroeder didn't join Jack and Gordon in the undercover cop car. Schroeder had cuffs ready, but Gordon waved them away. "That won't be necessary."

Schroeder shook his head, and had obviously been expecting that. Jack didn't even look at him.

Just as Schroeder was getting into his own car, he said snidely, "I think there's a problem when you start treating criminals better than people in your department."

Gordon completely ignored the remark, except that he slammed his door a little harder than necessary.

Back at the GCPD headquarters, Jack was taken into a very small interrogation room, and only Gordon came in with him. He gestured to Jack to sit down on a hard plastic chair that was against the wall, and blocked off from the entrance by a long table. Inspite of the obvious hostile appearance of the room, designed to make the suspect feel entrapped, Gordon just sighed and cut to the chase. "Do you feel like talking?"

Jack rubbed his eyes, his vision wavering from the severe headache. Gordon sat down on the table, opposite Jack. He just looked down at him. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were defending yourself. That woman would have died if you hadn't been there."

Jack glanced with poorly focused eyes at Gordon's face. He looked almost distressed. He looked like he badly wanted to help in the situation, knowing that he shouldn't have been arrested, not this time. He should have been called down to the station as a witness, perhaps even a victim, to give a statement.

Jack looked away, thinking of Anthony's words. Gordon didn't seem out to get him, but Jack knew he wasn't his friend. Jack said the only thing he could say. "I want a lawyer."

Gordon studied Jack for a moment, then he nodded in resignment. "Well. All right. Another officer will let you make a phone call, then you'll be put in a cell."

Jack followed Gordon out of the room, and watched as Schroeder caught Gordon's eyes. "What the hell happened?"

Jack expected Gordon to lose his temper. But he steadily looked at Schroeder and said, "He invoked his right to speak to a lawyer. There is nothing I can do."

Schroeder might have wanted to ignore such civil liberties, but he knew Gordon was right. Nothing could be done. If Jack was forced to convict himself, well, that would be a violation of a person's rights. So Schroeder did the only thing he could. He glanced at Jack and said, "Learned some new tricks over the years, huh?"

Yeah, Jack had learned a few tricks. He felt antagonized, but Schroeder wasn't completely out of line. His assumption was, after all, correct. Jack wasn't a saint, and he knew it. Jack wasa killer, and Schroeder _knew _it. He wanted him to burn for it, rot in prison for his life, not because he cared enough to get a murderer off the streets, but because it would make him feel like he was doing his job properly. On the other hand, while Gordon obviously wanted to do his job well, he genuinely wanted to help, both the society as a whole and Jack as an individual. He was almost completely sure that Gordon believed that he had killed his father and his girlfriend. Jack realized at that moment that Gordon was very good at hiding whatever was on his mind. He only allowed certain things to filter through, like care and concern. Jack automatically took his good-heartedness for weakness. He had already made the mistake of underestimating him. While Schroeder was as easy to read as a pre-schooler's alphabet book, Gordon was as unfathomable as an ancient Latin text.

"You call _that_ a trick?" Jack smirked, deliberately trying to aggravate Schroeder.

Schroeder looked like he was going to retort, when Gordon pointed at Schroeder and snapped, "Don't."

Schroeder threw his arms up as Gordon took Jack out of the room. "You see what I'm talking about? All the scum of Gotham City get treated like fucking royalty..."

Jack was able to place a call to the mansion only, and he left a message with Richard. He could only wait for a reply now.

Gordon left Jack at the main desk, and he was taken to a small room and fingerprinted - since his juvenile record had been sealed - and then he was taken to a cell. The room was across from the same one he had been contained in the previous time.

Before the cop left Jack to himself, he asked, "Dinner-time soon. You hungry?"

Jack hadn't given anything much thought in the past few hours. He had just been thrown back and forth, bouncing into one crisis and crashing headfirst into another. "Yeah."

In about another hour, Jack had eaten and was finally ready for rest. His head was still pounding, but not as badly as before.

Jack didn't even know he had fallen asleep until someone woke him up with a metallic clatter against the bars. At first he didn't know where he was. Then he saw the gray walls, metal sink and toilet, and felt his head pounding. He moved and felt the bandages and stitches against his skin.

He raised himself up a little and looked at the silhouette of the person standing there. The man was a cop, and he said, "There's a woman here to see you."

The first, fleeting thought in Jack's head was that it was Teresa. "Who is it?"

The cop looked over his shoulder. "Yo! What's the lady's name?"

A moment later, a man's reply came: "Erin!"

Jack sat up fully. "Oh."

"You know who it is?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. That's my girlfriend."

The cop waved Erin over. "Come on." She walked slowly into view, obviously hesitant. He opened the cell for her and said, "Ten minutes."

Erin nodded and stepped inside, jumping a little as the bars shut behind her. The cop walked away and turned on the lights in the cell.

Ordinarily Jack might have been glad to see Erin, but not after what he had discovered. Had that only been that morning? Time felt warped out of proportion. Jack sat back down on the stiff cot. "What are you doing here?"

"I was actually coming here for... another reason." She shook her head. She looked like she'd been crying. "Jack, what's going on?"

At first Jack felt like he was about to give her a stinging reply, but decided she did kind of deserve an explanation. Before he could answer, she started talking again, as though she had been holding it all in for a long time. "I've been watching the news and I'm hearing all these things that I never...I never thought you could do. That you were suspected of killing your father and that you were convicted of kidnapping your friend and that you were involved in the _Wayne_ murder trial... The _Waynes!_ Why didn't you ever tell me anything? And now they're saying you killed someone?" She blinked back tears, her chest rising and falling as she tried to breath normally.

Jack just sat there as she eventually broke down and continued to stand there, her face in her hands, small sobs escaping her. Finally, rolling his eyes, he stood up and went over to her, then took her in his arms. She started crying even harder.

Jack rubbed her back. "Calm down. Tell me why you were actually coming here. Is there some special occasion I don't know about?"

She took another minute to collect herself, then pulled away from him, not meeting his eyes. Finally she wiped her face and said, very quietly, "I'm moving out."

The words didn't even register right away. "What?"

"I'm moving out. I'm leaving." Her resolve grew firmer each time.

Jack had no reply for her.

To relieve the silence for her own benefit, she started talking again. "You hardly ever come to see me anymore. And now... After all this, I feel like I don't even know you." She looked at him finally. "I feel like you've been cheating on me. All these times you haven't come to see me, it's like you'd rather spend your time with another woman."

Finally he stated flatly, "You're moving out."

She looked blank for a moment, then nodded. "That's what I said, yes."

Jack felt his temper and frustration rising. "You're doing this now? You're doing this, to me, _now_?!" His voice cracked harshly.

She swallowed, but her anger won over her guilt. "Yes. Now! You've been cheating on me, I know it! Since you left me! I waited for you for so long. It's been a year! I've barely seen you. I'm moving out."

Jack put his fingers to his temples to clear his frenzied thoughts. "Not once have I _ever _done anything against you! This is fucking ridiculous! You're paranoid, I've always told you that! And now? You're moving out, now? When all this is happening? You're totally _fucking _useless!"

She looked hurt, but countered angrily, "Well, there is someone who doesn't think so." She swallowed and said, with the obvious intention of shocking him, "I'm moving in with someone else. He's been around more than you."

At that Jack gave a sudden bark of mocking laughter.

She looked stricken by the sound, and shrank back a little.

Jack continued to laugh. "Shit, you're pathetic!"

She was thoroughly wounded, as well as unpleasantly surprised at his reaction. She had obviously been hoping to incite some emotional damage in return for what he had said.

His head pounded from the toll the deep laughter took on his sinuses, but he didn't care. It felt good to laugh, to relieve the stress of the horrible day. Jack fell on his bed, bending over, cackling.

Erin couldn't take it anymore, and she cried out, "Let me out of here! I'm finished!" Then she spun back to face Jack. "I _have_ been cheating on you! At least I have the decency to admit it!"

Jack spasmed into giggles again just as his first bout was fading. "I... I just found out... This morning," he gasped and giggled again. "Sorry I spoiled your surprise! Hahahaha!"

The cop came and unlocked the door. "What the fuck is going on in here?"

Erin shoved past him and disappeared.

The cop looked flabbergasted but he shut the cell door again.

Jack tossed himself back into the bed, his head pounding hard and steady. He felt almost drunk with amusement. Jack threw his arm up to get the cop's attention. "Hey, send her right in next time! I like a good joke!"


	53. Some Disturbing News

_**Chapter 53 - Some Disturbing News**_

Jack's almost hysterical laughs died down quickly into chuckles.

He probably couldn't have chosen a more inappropriate - yet somehow totally perfect - time to laugh at Erin. His conscience nagged at him, and he told himself, _Okay, maybe it was the wrong thing to do._

But she was so fucking pitiful. He was actually glad their relationship was over. Finally.

But he decided that his reaction had been somewhat strange. While most people would have probably broken down at that point into mindless sobs, he had gone the other way.

Jack pressed down on the top of his head to relieve the headache, but it didn't work too well. Even though he had fallen asleep earlier, he discovered that the sleep was now evading him. So he sat up and called a guard over for a pain killer and some water.

The next morning, before he even had a chance to wake up on his own, his cell was opened and Anthony and another man walked in. Jack knew this man, and he had been an assistant lawyer the last time Jack had been in court. The man held a briefcase and wore a woolen coat over a blue suit. His hair was slicked back and his face was full of sharp angles. His eyes were icy and alert.

The guard waited with the cell open.

Jack sat up groggily. "Has bail been set?"

"Not yet," Anthony said, shaking his head. "We're going to have a little chat right now. You remember Mr. Delgado?" Anthony asked. "Yeah," Jack replied, and they shook hands.

They were led to another room with a rectangular table and four chairs. The room had two large windows that looked out into the hallway, but Anthony shut the blinds first before doing anything else.

While Jack sat down and looked on, Anthony traced his fingers around the window sills and then around the edges and under the table, then he did the same with the chairs. Jack watched him in silence, and then he finally sat down.

Delgado took his coat off and set it on the back of his chair. "Why don't you just tell us what happened?"

Jack started the story out with when he arrived in Gotham, and met up with Teresa. He ended it with when the paramedics showed up. Jack was picking at his stitches as he talked. They were already itchy. Then he looked at the two men. "I need my blade back. I've had it for years."

The lawyer shook his head. "That's evidence right now. You probably won't get it back until after everything is over."

"But that could take months!"

"Exactly."

"That thing is good luck for me. It's saved my life twice. I can't..." Jack trailed off, as something dawned on him. His lower jaw grew slack. He stared off into space for several seconds before someone finally spoke. "What is it?"

Jack blinked and looked at Anthony, but didn't answer right away as he still sat there thinking.

"What the fuck is it?" Anthony demanded. "Are you sick or something?"

_If only_... Jack thought. "No. I'm not sick," he strained. "But there _might_ be a problem."

Delgado frowned, sensing troubling news. "What kind of a problem?"

Jack looked at him, then at Anthony. Both of them didn't look pleased, and the lawyer looked downright hostile at this new distortion of what would otherwise be a smooth case.

Jack swallowed nervously. "My blade is a murder weapon."

"Are you shittin' me?" Anthony asked sarcastically.

"No. I mean... In another murder."

Now Anthony's jaw dropped and Delgado demanded, "Are you _shittin' _me?"

"No," Jack mumbled.

"Who the fuck did you kill?" Anthony asked through his obvious shock.

Jack sighed and said, "A man called Jamie Roscoe."

Both of the men stared at Jack, clearly searching their memories for some recollection of him.

"You don't know him," Jack finally said, saving them the trouble.

"Who is he then?"

"He raped my mother. Years ago. Before I was born."

After a few moments of silence as the information seeped in, Anthony asked, "When did you kill him?"

"When I was eighteen. Eight years ago."

Anthony continued to stare at Jack like he was someone else Delgado whipped his head around to look at Anthony. "This is bullshit, man. You can't pull something like this."

Anthony shrugged his shoulders and put his hands out in protest. "I didn't know about this!"

"Listen, I don't know if there will be a problem yet. I cleaned the blade after I killed him."

Delgado jumped to his feet. "I can't believe this. I'm not taking on this case. This is fucking ridiculous. I want out."

"Just shut up and sit down. You're getting a lot more than your sorry ass deserves." Anthony overcame his surprise quickly. "And as for you. You're totally out of control. What else have you done?"

"Nothing else," Jack answered. "I cleaned it after I... You know. I don't know if they'll find any blood on there though. I did a pretty good job of cleaning it."

"What kind of blade is it?"

"A switchblade."

Delgado threw his hands up. "You didn't do a good job of cleaning it. Trust me."

Anthony looked disappointed. "He's probably right about that."

Jack frowned and shook his head. "I did. I got all of it."

"What kind of switchblade is it?"

"A folding switchblade."

Delgado was completely discouraged. "They'll definitely find something. Unless pulled that thing apart, submerged the parts in bleach, and soaked it, and then rinsed them with distilled water, they'll find something." Delgado put his palms down on the table and looked Jack squarely in the eye. "Did you do that?"

"No," Jack mumbled.

"Did you at least use soap?"

"No," he replied foolishly.

"Face it. You're getting ass-raped."

"Stop being so dramatic," Anthony waved his hand. "We'll just wait and see if they find anything. Until then, we have to keep cool."

Jack knew the possibility of going to prison was very real, if they found something. "I'm not going to prison."

Delgado was fuming. "If they find something, you're definitely going to prison. Your file is going to be opened back up."

Jack was determined. "I'm _not_ going to prison."

Anthony cautioned, "You know the life of a fugitive isn't easy."

Jack looked scathingly at him. "Why do you think I ran away from Florida?"

"Prison might be easier than you think." Anthony settled back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.

"I'm not going to prison. I swear."

------------------------

_It's a really short chapter, I know. But if I started writing the next part it would have gotten too long. More in the next update!_


	54. Payback's A Bitch

_Just want to point a few things out... Jack is now 26 years old, that would make Bruce Wayne 20. Bruce is just about now getting beat up by Maroni's guys and he's packing up and leaving town on that ship to Bhutan (I know it's Bhutan, and not China. Thanks J-Horror Girl!) where he is caught and sent to some obscure prison. _

_**Chapter 54 - Payback's A Bitch**_

**One week later**

For a while now, Jack wasn't thinking about impending doom. But he was wishing Teresa was awake. He had to leave the mansion. He had to tell her goodbye. He didn't want to leave a note. It seemed so impersonal. After all the time he had had to tell her the truth, he couldn't just leave a note. The testing on the knife's blood samples was still not done. But Jack felt his time growing short. Soon they would come after him with a warrant.

Teresa had lost some weight in the past week. She was being tubefed some kind of nutrition. Her hair was clean, but unkempt, and although gaunt, her cheeks were rosy with blood. Maybe this room was a little too hot. Jack felt it too, and he had to take his jacket off to keep from sweating. When he took a closer look at her face, he noticed that her forehead was dotted with perspiration. Jack left the ICU room momentarily and walked up to the nurses' station. While he waited to be attended to, he saw Emily walk through the doors of ICU and wash her hands. Visitors had to wash their hands before going into the patient's room. She smiled at him as she scrubbed soap into her skin. "How have you been? Are you healing up okay?"

"Fine," he replied. "I was just going to tell them it's too hot in there."

She turned off the tap and wiped her hands on papertowels. "Okay. Do they know when she's going to be awake?"

"Probably within the next couple of days." Jack paused. "But I have to leave. I can't be here when she wakes up."

Emily looked confused. "Why on earth not?"

"I have some problems. Can I have your number so I can call you to check on her?"

Emily looked a little worried, but she said, "Sure. Let me just put my purse down."

They walked back into Teresa's room. "Oh it _is _hot in here. The poor girl is sweating." Emily pulled out a business card and scribbled out a personal number on the back. What is this problem that you have?"

"I'll tell you later. But I think I have to tell Teresa first."

"Are you sure you have to leave before she's awake?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah."

"She's going to want to see you."

"I know." Jack glanced at Teresa, who was sleeping peacefully, the respirator breathing steadily for her.

"Are you going out of town?"

Jack considered. He did have to go out of town. Erin had already moved out. And he hadn't been back or even talked to her since their last meeting at the Gotham City PD. "Yeah."

"All right. Let me go tell the nurse they're keeping it too hot in here. I'll be right back."

Jack stared at Teresa, expecting her to wake up at any moment. Even in her current state, lying in a hospital gown with her arm stuck up with IV needles and tubes in her mouth, she was still beautiful. He didn't understand it, but she was. Her eyelids fluttered every now and then, and her dark lashes flickered. Emily returned after a while, trailed after by a nurse who adjusted the thermostat. "Thank you," Emily said, as the nurse smiled and left.

Then she went to the window and beckoned Jack. "Are they giving you problems with this whole case?"

"Not yet."

"I don't think they should have arrested you after what happened. That was wrong."

_They have their reasons_, Jack thought to himself. But he just shrugged. "It's okay. The bail was set really low. Within a day. Even the judge said the same thing. He said I was a hero."

"You certainly are."

"I'm no such thing. I should have gone in with her. She looked at me before walking inside. Then I got out and her cell phone rang. It was you."

Emily nodded and glanced at Teresa. She sighed, then said, "Well, we can't change anything now. So tell me, where are you going?"

"I have to go back to where I used to live. It's a tiny little mining town called Ashway. I have to clear out my old house."

"Oh I know that place. It's not too far from Bludhaven. I hear they don't even have a supermarket?"

Jack laughed unexpectedly at the small bit of humor. "Yeah, that's right. They don't have a movie theater, a hospital or even a courthouse. Everything needs to be done in Bludhaven. Sometimes it's not even listed on the map. Where I used to work, all their equipment had to be shipped to Bludhaven and then driven over in the company trucks."

"Sounds like a boring place."

"It is. But you get used to it. You get used to going to Bludhaven for everything."

"When is your case hearing set?"

"I don't even know that yet. I think they're putting it off until Teresa is awake and well enough to be there."

Emily looked at her again. "She doesn't even know Drew is dead."

Jack said nothing, but thought, _Good riddance_.

"I hope she doesn't take it too hard."

************************************

In the next hour, Jack had all this things packed into a medium sized duffel bag and a backpack, and the shotgun was settled snugly in the midst of his clothes. He had his other switchblade, not his favorite one, in his right pocket. This blade was also a folding blade, but the handle was too squared, unlike the other one, which was more rounded and contoured to fit in a man's hand. He caught the last bus to Ashway and reached there at about five.

He wasn't really sure what to expect when he got there. He imagined she had cleared out all her things and left the rest of the work to him. They had lived there for about four years, and so, they had accumulated a lot of crap over that time. Jack was sure it was going to take him a long time. So first he was going to assess what he needed to do, then go get supplies to clean up the place.

When Jack arrived there and unlocked the door, he was pleasantly surprised to find that all the furniture in the kitchen and living room was already gone. It was just less work for him. There was just a lot of garbage lying around, plastic cups and plates, pens, and mostly papers of all different shapes and sizes. Jack walked deeper inside and checked out the two bedrooms. He expected his shirts and books to still be inside the closet, even though the dresser was gone and so was the bed. Jack tried the lightswitch and rolled his eyes when he saw that the lightbulb was gone.

He didn't have a flashlight, so he made a note to himself to get that along with some garbage bags, a broom and some other cleaning supplies. He walked to the backdoor to check out the tiny veranda. That was where he kept his explosives. But when Jack opened it up, his eyes didn't go to the bottom left corner of the veranda, but the burnt out crater in which was a pile of completely burnt items. Jack's eyes widened in shock. He stopped and studied the damaged things, then walked closer. He noticed empty bottles of beer and and an empty pint of Seagram's gin, as well as a couple of cans of Red Bull. Somebody had gotten wasted, and Jack was pretty sure he knew who.

Most of the things on the surface was just ash, but as he pulled it away, making flecks of ash float around, he uncovered some clothing and some partially burnt books. Hastily pushing away more ash, Jack felt the realization hit him that this was all his stuff. All of it. All those books he had collected over the years on explosive-making and mining and chemistry, every bit of clothing he had left behind at the house. Jack spun around and went to the chest of explosives he kept. Throwing the lid back his jaw dropped when he saw that there was nothing left inside. Not a pinch of gunpowder, not one empty shellcasing.

He stood up and looked down at himself, seeing that he was covered with black ash. He started dusting himself off as he looked at the destroyed pile of his belongings in the backyard. "Erin, you fucking bitch."

Jack turned to go back inside and then noticed a note tacked to the outside of the backdoor. Jack tore it off and opened it up. It was in Erin's handwriting and signed with a lipstick kiss.

**Now who's pathetic?**


	55. Welcome to Bludhaven

_**Chapter 55 - Welcome to Bludhaven**_

Jack felt his blood boiling. He stared at the lipstick kiss, a glimmering pink shade meant to tease and taunt. His tension starting in his jaw, it grinded his teeth together and traveled down his arm to his hand, which crushed the note to an ash-streaked lump.

Jack slammed the backdoor open and went inside, leaving the door open. Night was starting to fall, and after checking all the lights in the house, Jack realized that all the lightbulbs were gone.

Jack decided his only choice was to pay a visit to the store and pick up lightbulbs along with everything else he needed. He had to call the phone and utility companies to shut everything off. He also had to let the landlord know that he was moving out. Jack checked for the phone, and _Yup_, he thought, _it's gone too._ Maybe the fact that she'd cleaned out everything wasn't such a great thing anymore.

Jack left the house unlocked and drove to the general store. They would be closing soon, in about thirty minutes. The streets were usually dead by six pm, eight in the summer. From there, loaded with two bags heavy with cleaning supplies, Jack also walked to the diner where Erin worked - she may have quit by now - to get some food. People went, _Huh?_ when Jack said the word delivery. And Jack had yet to find a place in Bludhaven that would deliver to Ashway.

He would have liked to see Erin there, although he was not sure what he would have done if she was. Maybe gone behind the counter and poured a pot of hot coffee on her. Usually coffee like that wasn't boiling hot. But it would get a good, healthy scream out of her.

Somewhat disappointed that Erin was nowhere to be found, Jack ordered a large amount of food for takeout.

He returned back to the house laden with all the things, and dropped them on the floor when he got there.

He had even bought a broom and mop at the last minute - she had probably taken those too - and the first thing he did was sweep everything in each room into a corner so he could easily scoop it into the garbage bags.

Eating every now and then, Jack spend the better part of the night cleaning.

He mopped the kitchen last and hopped up onto the counter beside the food. As the floor dried he ate a bit more. Jack had left the mansion without a word to anyone. No one knew that he wasn't going back. Anthony had suggested that everyone keep cool until the blood results came back, but Jack wasn't going to wait around, especially not with Schroeder out to snag him permanently.

Jack wasn't going to stay in Ashway, because he couldn't afford to keep the house rented on his own. Erin and he had shared the bills, and for the year or so he had lived and worked in Gotham, he had continued to bring his half of the money for the bills. Now he was out of a job, as well as a house. No more going back to school. It was like being back in Florida with no place to go. Inspite of the lack of resources, Jack felt better equipped this time around. He wasn't a stupid kid anymore, brash and reckless. He hadn't bothered covering up his tracks in the past, but he knew better now.

Jack ate to his fill and packed the rest of the stuff up. It was quite cold outside, so he took the food out to the veranda and put it in his explosives chest to keep the food from spoiling for as long as possible.

Then he returned inside, locked all the doors and windows, and went to sleep, using his clothes as bedding. He kept the shotgun beside him, and fell asleep facing it.

The next day, leaving any remaining items in the house in a garbage can outside, Jack made the calls from a payphone to shut off all his utilities and the phone, and paid a visit to his landlord, but discovered that the man was not home. So Jack just left a note that said the house was clean and both Erin and himself had already moved out. He made no mention of the destruction sustained in the backyard, and left a couple of hundred dollars more to keep the man satisfied with the abrupt move. Jack slipped the note and money under the door and walked to the bus terminal again.

The morning air was icy and the sun was weak, barely giving off any warmth with its rays. Jack checked the bus schedule and found the bus he was looking for. It was a twelve-twenty bus to Bludhaven.

*********************************

As the bus pulled into the city about three-and-a-half hours later, Jack immediately noticed how terrible the city looked. It was like vandals were rampant everywhere with no one to keep them controlled. Most of the buildings were marked with multi-colored grafitti and garbage littered the edges of the roads. Rust marks trailed down the walls of buildings that had fire escapes, and condemned buildings were common, with gaping dark windows and dirty broken glass.

This city was a disaster abandoned to the scum of society.

And yet there were people going about their daily work, getting coffee and commuting. The contrast was sharp against Gotham City, which was clean and didn't have a stench of filth. Gotham however, was rich with other vile things, like crime. Jack suspected crime was not lacking here either.

As Jack stepped off the bus and wandered out of the station, he saw a man walking along, frowning seriously, muttering to himself. After stepping out of the station, Jack saw a group of men huddled together in a dark corner, exchanging items with quick glances over their shoulders. Not wanting to draw attention, Jack turned his head and kept walking.

As he walked on, Jack decided he would fit right in here. Looked like everyone here was a criminal or a lunatic or fucking both.

He had quite a lot of money on him. He had never bothered to open up a bank account, and had always been paid in cash where ever he worked. Now he was walking around with a huge lump sum of almost ten thousand dollars. He had saved it from his job at Bunker Industries. He hated to carry around so much, but there was no place safer. A bank was out of the question now.

The first thing he had to do was to find a place to live. He couldn't go up to an apartment building manager and get a lease. He had to avoid putting his name down on anything to reveal his location. So Jack went to the nearest supermarket he could find and went to the notice board. He knew there would be rooms for rent advertised. Walking through the sliding doors, he took down all the numbers he could find.

Jack spent the next half hour or so calling each number. Most of the people were not home, and he didn't have a number to give them. Finally he got a man on the phone. Jack thought five-hundred a month was pricey, but decided to at least get a look at the place.

He took down the address to a neighborhood, and then travelled there by cab to the exact address.

Jack paid the cab driver and stepped out, studying the neighborhood. It smelled of food and he could see young kids playing on the street with their bikes or jump-rope. He didn't see one white person in sight. Everyone was black, except for maybe a couple of Hispanic people.

He attracted curious glances, some suspicious. As he started to walk up to the house, numbered with brass and painted in chipping blue paint, a young black man stepped out. He wore a doo-rag around his head and studs in each ear. He had a goatie and a sleeveless shirt over baggy jeans. The cold didn't seem to bother him. He walked down his porch steps with hollow sounds on the wood and a couple of more men followed him out.

He met Jack halfway to the house, in the middle of the yard. "You ain't a cop, are you?"

Jack glanced at the other two men, one of whom was heavy-set with bulging muscles and another, very thin one who was smoking a joint. "Do I look like a cop?"

"You white, ain't ya?"

Jack shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm not a cop though."

The man studied Jack for several moments, which the others came nearer and flanked Jack. The thin one nodded. "What's in that bag?"

"My stuff." Jack glanced at the house. "Can I get a look at the room?"

They looked at each other and finally the first man shook his head. "I don't think I want you as my tenant."

"What?" Jack demanded. "Why not?"

The guy borrowed the joint from the thin man and took a hit. "I can't have someone like you around," he breathed smoke as he spoke.

Jack lowered his duffel bag. "Do you still think I'm a fucking cop?"

The guy shrugged. "I just don't trust your type."

"My type?"

"Yeah. You know."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "No, I _don't _know."

"You look too suspicious. Look around, son. Ain't no one white 'round here but you."

Jack knew he was right. "Listen, I always mind my own business. I keep my stuff clean and I don't do drugs. What more could you want?"

The man tsked and took another hit. Then he nodded. "I'll let you stay here if you can pay me a grand a month. And pay me three months in advance. Think of it as a... non-refundable deposit."

Jack studied him a moment. "Are you fucking serious?" He had just doubled the original price of five-hundred dollars on the spot.

His reply was a cool, "Yeah."

Jack studied the yard. Among the patches of dead grass and mounds of dirty snow, several toys lay around. To the left of the house was a large patch of fresh dirt, apparent reserved for gardening in the spring, which would be soon.

"We got a deal?"

Jack turned his head back to the house. "Can I look at the room first?"

Jack followed the three of them into the house, which had a rug on the hardwood floor and the TV was on. There was a little boy and a young woman watching it. Both of them looked astonished at Jack's presence, but kept their mouths shut. Jack was led up a narrow, steep flight of stairs to a large room which held just a bed and a dresser, which Jack guessed was empty. The room had a low ceiling and smelled clean, like fresh linen. Jack walked inside as the other men stood at the doorway, and he opened the shuttered door closet. This was clean too, even though the wallpaper had been peeled off near the floor. This might be the best place he was going to find. Before Jack could really make a decision though, the first man spoke up. "You like it? You want it that badly?"

Before replying, Jack came closer to the door and checked the handle, which had a lock on the middle, and there was another lock above it that needed a key from the outside in. He would change that later.

"Yeah," Jack sighed. "I need it." Jack had his money spread out all over the place. He took out his wallet and pulled out fifteen hundred dollar bills. He pulled out the rest from another pocket and handed the bills to the guy. "Three thousand dollars."

The thin guy raised his eyebrows. "Shit."

The fat one remained stoic, scrutinizing Jack, and the first man took the money and looked down at it. "What business are you in?"

Jack put his duffel bag and backpack down finally. "Maybe I'll tell you another time."


	56. The Results are In

_**Chapter 56 - The Results are In**_

The apparent leader of the group nodded his head. "A'ight. I believe you. You ain't a cop. My name's Chris." He pointed to the fat man. "This is Lester, and this is Darryl. Your bathroom is right here. Follow me." Jack closed his door and followed Chris. "Only you'll be using this, so it's up to you to keep it clean. You can't go into any of the other rooms. They are my brother's, my sister's and my grandmama room's downstairs. Those two kids you saw downstairs? That's Rose and James." Chris stopped in his tracks abruptly and fixed Jack with a stern gaze. "I better not catch you anywhere near my sister."

Jack put his hands up. "I mind my own business, I already told you."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You only get one warning." Jack returned to his new room when he was given a key to both locks.

Jack returned to the room and unpacked his few things, putting them hastily away in the dresser.

For now, he didn't have to find a job. What he had to do was change the way he looked. He expected the blood results to surface soon, all over the media.

Jack didn't do much except sleep over the next few days, or lay awake imagining what would happen. He was almost completely sure that Jamie Roscoe's blood would be found. He _was _sure that eventually the number of strings that Anthony pulled would run out. Not only because the mob's power only stretched so far, but because he knew Anthony was getting impatient. One more wrong turn and Jack could expect a bullet in his head simply because he was too much trouble. Anthony didn't look capable of intense cruelty, but Jack wouldn't forget that he indeed was. How quickly a kind tone had turned into a striking snake. _People are like snakes, rats, pigs, weasels. Any shitty animal you can think of. Remember that._

Jack should have known Anthony was talking about himself too.

He was planning on getting a TV for his room, mostly because he wanted to keep a close eye on the news. Any time he didn't spend sleeping, he spent in local stores, checking out newspapers for any articles.

Mere hours after getting settled into his new room, Jack had done the only thing he could do disguise himself - shave his hair off and grow a beard and moustache. Then after the fact, he realized he looked like a skinhead, but it was too late so he started to always wear a winter hat. It was probably a bad idea to look like a Nazi fanatic around a black neighborhood.

He never got the TV to himself downstairs, since the kids or the old woman were always watching. The kids were still curious about him, especially the boy, who looked like he was about eight. The girl Rose, was about sixteen. Although she was not his type, and he didn't have any siblings of hi own, Jack could understand her older brother Chris' protectiveness. She was petite and pretty.

Everyone had a routine around here, something Jack could never really get into. A week and already he was getting bored of scoping out the papers everyday. The kids went to school in the morning on the bus, which stopped while it was still dark out. The old woman went out in the day for lottery tickets and spent a lot of time doing the scratch-offs. She didn't say much to Jack, although he sensed an air of disapproval about her. He thought most of it had to do with him refusing to eat her cooking. It wasn't bad or anything, infact it smelled and tasted delicious, much better than his own mother's, but they did sit together at the dinner table as a family. Jack automatically felt alien, and usually declined her offer of food.

"Don't that boy ever eat?" Was the question that followed him as he left the kitchen. "No wonder he's so skinny."

And then there it was. Finally. The news he had been waiting for.

The article was entitled, _New murder, Old evidence. _

_When police investigators suspended the murder weapon from a domestic crime scene, they were not expecting this - to open a cold case file from eight years ago. Forty-two-year-old Jamie Roscoe of the performing group, The Roscoe Company, was brutally murdered his home. Although evidence was collected, not a suspect nor a murder weapon was found, until now. In the domestic murder that occured two weeks ago, twenty-six-year-old Jack Napier killed Drew Giordano in self-defense, sustaining minor injuries to his person. Giordano's ex-wife, Teresa, was almost slain during the ordeal. Although Napier was seen as a savior, this new evidence sheds light on a man who is possibly a ruthless killer. (Continued on Page A-6.)_

Jack stopped reading. This was front page news. There was one picture on the front, the same mugshot from when he had been taken to prison after saving Teresa's life and taking Drew's. _Man,_ he thought. _I look like shit._

Well, now he looked like some ugly hobo with all that facial hair. It was impossible to keep it looking neat, since his hair was coarse and slightly curly. He had to go to a barber. No one would recognize him unless they could compare the mugshot alongside him. Jack bought the paper.

Everyone had certainly noticed that he had changed his appearance drastically, but had not yet asked questions. The person that was of the most concern to Jack was Chris, and his reaction. Chris was usually calm and collected, and there was a lot going on behind those black eyes.

So, it came as no surprise - although it was unpleasant - when he came banging on Jack's door later that day, waking him up. Jack opened the door and was shoved back inside by Chris, while Darryl, followed nearby, and shut and locked the door. He stood at the door, his lanky frame slouching forward, his hands folded behind him.

Chris was not armed, but he looked tense. "I _knew _there was somethin' fuckin' wrong about you."

Jack raised his hands in surrender. "No one knows I'm here."

"You're leaving. Now."

Jack straightened up. "I said, no one knows I'm here."

"I don't give a fuck. Get out!"

"Listen..." Jack began appeasingly. "I didn't tell anyone I came to Bludhaven. No one. You and your family are safe."

Chris took a deep breath to calm himself.

"I'll pay you five-hundred more a month." Jack tried to appeal to his opportunistic nature. He pulled out his wallet as a sign that he was ready to pay in an instant.

Chris stroked his goatie and happened to look at the newspaper sitting on Jack's dresser. He walked over to it and picked it up, then read quickly over the beginning of the article. He stopped at the end, tossed Jack an appraising glance and opened up the paper to the rest of the article. He read over it, more carefully, and finally put it down. "You killed your father, didn't you, and his bitch?"

Jack decided now was not the best time to lie, but it couldn't have been a worse question. He sighed. "Yeah. I did. Don't tell anyone."

"And you killed this guy too? Roscoe?"

Jack didn't even bother replying this time. He just nodded. Jack knew that not all of Chris' urgency to get Jack out came from fear of a murderer, but fear of the police. Jack knew from day one that he was involved in illegal stuff, but he wasn't sure what it was.

Chris looked at Darryl, who gave a non-commital shrug. He didn't seem to care about much. Chris turned back to Jack with a determined face. "I want you outta here."

Jack momentarily glanced at the ceiling, then put his wallet away. "I tried to be nice. I tried to be generous--You know how hard that is for me? If you kick me out, I'll tell the cops that you were 'behaving suspiciously'. And you know that any white cop is a racist pig and he'll just arrest you for being black." Jack didn't really believe this, he was sure there was at least one exception to the rule, and that was Gordon, but Jack knew that Chris didn't believe there were such exceptions. Jack also knew that what he had said was risky, because there was nothing really stopping any of them from just killing him off, and he didn't think they were totally opposed to the idea.

"You can't tell 'em shit, you on the run."

Jack shrugged. "I can send an anonymous tip. I know where you live. I know your name. I know Darryl and Lester and your whole family. There won't be anything to stop me." Jack smiled, even though there was nothing to smile about. He felt like shit and like nothing was ever going to go right. But it wasn't like him to truly reveal his emotions. So he smiled anyway, an easy grin full of mischief and a hint of malice. Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's your choice."

Chris clenched his jaw, then came nearer. He stared at Jack from inches away, sizing him up. Then in a quick, smooth movement, he pulled out a Desert Eagle out from behind him, the hammer already cocked. Jack had almost fully expected this, and as Chris was whipping out the gun, Jack pulled out his newer, less favorite switchblade and opened it up. Chris had the gun at Jack's left jugular, and Jack had the knife at Chris's left side, under his left ribcage. "I could kill you right now," Chris murmured.

"Try it," Jack challenged. "I'll take you with me. I swear I will." Jack was prepared to keep his word, but he realized he didn't actually care if Chris pulled the trigger. "Do it." _I don't care if I die._ The revelation struck him hard and filled him with sadness, but only spite seethed through. Jack dropped the blade. "Do it. You dirty nigger."

"Oooh, shit," Darryl breathed.

Chris's mouth fell open slightly, half out of shock, half out of a realization of his own, that Jack didn't care. Any white man who called a black man who happened to have a gun to his neck, a nigger, didn't give a _fuck_.

Chris lowered his gun. He stared at Jack, almost a little fearfully. A man who didn't care about anything was very dangerous.

Jack shook his head and sat on the bed, leaving his knife on the floor. "I knew you didn't have it in you."

Chris put the safety back on his gun and slowly put it away, distracted by his thoughts. Jack stared boredly at him.

Chris glanced at the floor. Then he abruptly left the room, leaving Darryl standing there.

Darryl looked at Jack and shook his head. "White boy, you is _crazy_!"


	57. Cabin Fever

_**Chapter 57 - Cabin Fever**_

Jack continued to keep an eye on the newspapers. Within a few days the police put out Jack's photograph in the Gotham newspapers - which were also sold in some Bludhaven stores - asking civilians for help to track him down.

Jack stopped leaving the house after that. He shut himself up in the room, which seemed to grow smaller day by day. He rarely even went to other parts of the house, thus eating less. And he slept. He slept so much that he woke up with his whole body aching from fatigue or his head hurting.

After two weeks of this behavior, Jack was starting to become a nervous wreck. If he heard someone outside the house talking he could have sworn they were saying his name and talking about him. If he heard someone open or shut the front door of the house he thought they were coming for him. He would stop breathing and listen hard. He started having panic attacks from nothing. The mere silence of the room brought it on. The silence was deafening and oppressive, suffocating. Just when it seemed as though it couldn't get worse than silence, it did, when someone happened to walk past his room.

He lost a tremendous amount of weight, stressing over being found by the authorities. He couldn't go to prison. He couldn't. He couldn't handle the routine, the cages. The bars. The imprisonment. It would be worse than being in this fucking room, actually without freedom. Right now if he could just get himself out of the door, just past that door... He'd be free from this feeling. But once he was inside the prison, behind the walls and those _fucking _bars, it was all over. And in there he wouldn't even be able to kill himself. They took away every possible suicide aid. No rope. No rat poison. Not even any Pine-Sol or bleach. And definitely no knives.

One month after voluntarily trapping himself inside the room, Jack was curled up in bed under his covers. He felt ill. The feeling of dread was always there, the dread that they might know where he was, that they might be coming after him. Everytime he thought about someone calling his name, the dread renewed itself in his stomach like a forceful punch to the gut. It was eating at him, and he didn't know how to get rid of it. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't. Finally Jack kicked the covers off, feeling chilly. Part of it was due to the fact that he hadn't eaten for over a day. He stood up and immediately started shaking from the weakness. With trembling hands he rummaged through his dresser, dropping clothes and items on the floor, not bothering to pick them back up. He was looking for his switchblade.

Jack didn't find it for a long time. He had hidden it from himself. He couldn't remember where he had put it. When he didn't find it in the dresser he pulled his bed apart, searching under the mattress and inside the pillowcase. He started to shake harder as he exerted himself without any strength.

Jack looked in his duffel bag, in the backpack turning them both upsidedown and shaking them. He crawled under the bed, hunting furiously for it. When he crawled out from under the bed, covered in a thin layer of dust, his eyes went to the closet. He let out a sigh of relief, and also misery. He remembered where it was now. There was nothing to stop him. And he couldn't stop himself.

He opened the closet and dug around in a small hole he had discovered a month earlier while putting away his things. _There it is_.

Jack pulled out the knife and clutched it as tightly as he could. He slid the drawer closed and pushed his clothing aside, making himself room on the floor so he could lean up against the dresser. He sighed. Was he really going to do this?

Jack frowned in thought as he switched open the blade. He looked at it for a long time, stalling. So this was how he was going to go out. Alone and depressed.

As he carefully took the blade and gave himself a little nick, a soft giggle escaped his lips. Jack stopped. Well, he stopped moving the knife. But another giggle escaped him. Jack shut his lips up tightly and opened his eyes wide, arching up his eyebrows. "What the hell?"

At the sound of his voice he burst out laughing. Jack dropped the switchblade and clapped a hand over his mouth, afraid someone might have heard him. He felt his hand shaking. His whole body was trembling, and his teeth chattered together nervously. Jack clenched his jaw shut, stifling his laughs.

The giggles were uncontrollable, delirious. It was like being freezing cold and not being able to stop shivering.

_Stop it, stop laughing you fucking maniac!_

He stood up and dissolved into high-pitched laughter, sinking down onto his bed.

He buried his face in his hands, muffling his voice.

It was so ironic. All those people he had killed, and they had never died alone. And there he had been, ready to take himself out, all alone. It was _so_ ironic. And _funny!_

Jack gave up trying to stop laughing, and abandoned himself to the spell. He shoved his face into the pillow, cackling wildly. _Stop it. Stop that!_ But he couldn't. Any shred of logic told him nothing was funny, but he didn't stop.

Jack took a deep breath, still smiling, his mouth twitching, and closed his eyes. _Stop. Stop. Stop._

Jack pressed his hands over his mouth. He was terrified that he would start up again. He sniggered under his hands, and grit his teeth and held his breath. He went back to the switchblade and picked it up.

He had no mirrors in this room, and it was just as well. He didn't think he could stand seeing himself this way. Soon he had to draw a breath and a high, trembling laugh quivered out.

This was worse than breaking down crying. This was definitely worse! He had to break this. What the hell was happening? Jack gripped the blade and brought it down in a vicious stab deep into his left forearm. Jack gave a scream of pain, and tugged the knife out with a gasp. He dropped the blade and clutched the freely bleeding wound. "Ah, shit...!"

Well, at least he wasn't laughing anymore.

_But I'm in pain!_ Jack put pressure on the wound but it didn't stop the bleeding. The blood just seeped through his fingers and ran down the back of his right arm, down his left elbow, dripping. Jack stood up and instantly felt dizzy. He stumbled to the door and unlocked it with slippery fingers.

Squinting into the dim hallway, making sure no one was around, Jack tripped towards the bathroom, and soon he was one door away. But he got the shock of his life when the little boy James threw open his bedroom door and gave Jack a joyous "Hi!" But his face grew serious and scared when he saw Jack, who was bleeding profusely and was pressed against the opposite wall, having practically jumped out of his skin. Jack shoved past the boy and ran the rest of the way to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it.

He heard James screaming for Chris after that.

Jack turned the tap on to wash some of the blood off, but a wave of nausea and dizziness much more powerful than the first washed over him. He had lost a lot of blood, and there was already a smudged puddle around the sink, as well as patches on the bathroom rug. Jack sank to the floor, his heart fluttering in his chest.

Then, he could hear footsteps in the hallway, and James' frantic voice.

"Hey open this door!" It was Chris.

Jack replied weakly, "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Open this door you crazy fucker, you ain't dying in _my _house!"

"Go away, I said... I said...I'll be fine."

This was apparently not a good enough answer, because Chris started throwing himself against the bathroom door, and after a few tries, the door's lock broke and he stumbled in as the door slammed against the wall. "Oh sweet Jesus," he moaned in horror. "Get James outta here!"

"What the fuck's happenin'?" Darryl demanded, popping his head into the doorway. "Oh shit."

"Just get him out of here! Now!"

"Chris! What's going on?" James whined. He sounded like he was crying. His sobs faded away as Darryl obeyed Chris and dragged the boy away.

"I told you... I'll be fine." Jack attempted to sound firm, but he heard his own voice and it sounded feeble.

Chris grabbed a towel from the small cabinet beneath the sink and flapping it open, he wrapped it around Jack's arm. Jack pulled his arm back, but Chris caught his wrist and held the towel there. "Leave me alone," Jack murmured irritably, weakly pushing Chris's arms away. He saw the edges of his vision grow white, then start fading to black.

Chris grabbed another towel, and this one, he soaked in water and squeezed it so that drops fell on Jack's face. Jack flinched from the iciness. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Stop talking you fuckin' idiot."

Jack was about to reply again, but he didn't have anymore strength left, and blacked out completely.

*****************************************

Jack opened his eyes slowly. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping. His vision was very blurry. In fact, as he squinted to focus his eyes, he didn't even recognize his surroundings. Jack sat up as quickly as he could, desperate to find out where he was, whether it was a familiar place. His calm heart was thrown into instant panic.

"Whoa, easy there, boy," the old woman said. She was sitting there next to him, doing scratch-offs. She looked as relaxed as ever, but also stern, and Jack breathed a shaky sigh and lay himself back down. He was on the couch in the living room. His left arm was hurting something vicious and he looked down at it. It was heavily bandaged, and there was one dark patch of blood that had seeped through. Jack sat up again.

"Now didn't I tell you to stay there?" The woman snapped angrily.

Jack sullenly laid himself back down. "I'm thirsty," he said hoarsely.

She put her lottery ticket down on the coffee table and got up to her feet with a bit of effort. "_I'll_ get it for you. Just stay there."

Jack used his right hand to rub his eyes. His left arm hurt if he moved it, and maintained a steady ache if he sat still. He felt like he was waking up from a horrible dream.

When the woman returned, Jack asked quietly for some pain killers. She frowned in her familiar, disapproving way as she handed him a cold glass. "You lie there and hurt a while. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two."

Jack looked in the glass and saw that it was orange juice. He took a tentative sip. He had been hoping for water, and the juice left a bitter taste in his mouth. Unpleasant though it was at the moment, he decided to just drink it instead of draw anymore disapproval from the old woman.

"You go on and stab yourself, and then want to get rid of the pain," she muttered, half to herself. Then she looked at him sharply. "Now don't you know it's gonna hurt when you cut yourself? What are you, stupid?" She picked up her scratch-off again and the coin she was using. "Lord knows who raised you... You'd never see my Chris doing that, nuh-uh."

Jack rolled his eyes and put the glass down on the floor. She was totally clueless. Jack wondered if she knew her grandson was actively involved in crime. Maybe she did and she didn't care. But she was right about one thing though, that her grandson Chris would never resort to self-mutilation under any circumstances.


	58. Visiting An Old Friend

_I can't believe it... I am just past 300 reviews!!! Thank you all so much for reading this story and keeping up with it and reviewing so much! _

_And I'm sorry it took so long to update, it's almost been a week! I had the next chapter ready to post, and I discovered I couldn't log in to my account! So I wrote the next chapter, waiting and waiting to update. Anyway, since that happened, I'm going to put up both those chapters up at once, 58 and 59. _

_This chapter looks really long, but it's just a lot of dialogue._

_**Chapter 58 - Visiting an Old Friend**_

As Jack lay there in the living room staring at the TV, the woman shuffled in and out of the kitchen, preparing dinner.

She refused to let him return to his room for another hour, and by then dusk had fallen. The kids re-entered the house - either from playing outside or being at a friend's house - and Chris was the last to return from where ever he was.

Finally the lady let Jack move and told him to come into the kitchen. Jack followed grudingly as Rose helped her grandmother set the table.

Jack stalled in the doorway of the kitchen, eager to leave this family's presence. Chris brought the food over to the table and some iced-tea.

Jack held his arm awkwardly, wondering how bad the damage was. He couldn't move his hand without the whole limb hurting, and he wondered if his tendon had torn again.

While Jack was thinking, he noticed everyone had already seated themselves at the table. Chris gestured for Jack to sit and he reluctantly sat down. Jack sat there while Rose bowed her head down - everyone else followed - and she said grace. Jack had never once recited it in his whole life. He sat there as he watched the others in incredulity. When everyone echoed Amen, Jack slid his chair back. He didn't take any of the food with him as he stood up.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked.

"I'm going back to my room."

"Boy, sit your bony behind back in that chair this minute!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Listen, I'm not your grandson."

"I don't give a damn! Sit down! And don't you roll those eyes at _me_!" She definitely looked angry.

Jack glanced at Chris, who looked a little embarrassed. "Just sit down and eat. You look really thin."

"Yeah, _really _thin," James piped up. Jack looked at him in surprise. Finally he seated himself at the table.

He forced himself to eat at least a little bit of the food, and even though it tasted delicious he had no appetite. Jack simply wanted to go back to the blissful oblivion of deep slumber.

Jack was the first to finish dinner and he washed out his own plate, just in case she decided to jump down his throat for not doing _that_. She didn't bother him this time when he left.

He was very relieved to be away from there. In his room he found droplets of blood still on the wooden floor. It was all dried up by now - he must have been unconscious for a few hours - and he went to his bathroom to clean it up. He spent the next hour or so cleaning up all his blood, dragging around a garbage bin, a roll of papertowels and cleaning spray.

The food had cleared his thinking up a bit, and he felt stronger. Jack retreated to his room after he was finished, and looked out of his window. He had used thick sheets and duct tape to stop any light from falling inside. He ripped this off, raising a cloud of dust.

He dropped the sheet on the floor and looked at his arm. He still had his medical kit. He wasn't sure if his self-inflicted stab wound had been stitched. Jack unravelled the bandages carefully and noticed that the wound had not yet been sutured, but simply closed up with the gauze. It started bleeding weakly again. Jack pulled out his medical kit and decided whether it was worth it to sew it up himself. He really couldn't move his fingers, but he couldn't go to a doctor. Not after he was a wanted man.

Jack pulled out the equipment and dipped it in alcohol. He grit his teeth and got to work, periodically dabbing away the blood. By the time he got to the end of it, his eyes were watering from the pain. But it was over, and he used fresh gauze to wrap it back up again.

He returned to the bathroom to wash his hands,and bumped into James on the way. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a picture of a baseball on it over a pair of jeans. His hair was dense and curly, and his skin was the same, smooth brown as his sister's. The only difference was that James had light brown eyes instead of black. He didn't look too happy to see him, but he did look very curious. "What are you looking at?" Jack muttered as he walked into the bathroom.

"Nuthin'."

Jack washed his hands with the bathroom door open, and James watched him intently.

Jack looked at James and said, "I'm sorry if I scared you."

"I wasn't scared!"

Jack nodded. "Oh. My mistake."

"How did that happen?"

Jack glanced sideways at the boy, wondering if he should tell him. "Maybe you should ask your brother."

James frowned. "He'll never tell me."

"Then I'll never tell you."

"Oh come on! Please? Tell me!"

"I can't."

"I won't tell him you told me. Please? I just want to know!"

Jack couldn't help but laugh at the eagerness to deceive. He wiped his hands on a towel and shook his head. "Maybe another time."

James looked thoroughly disappointed, and stared at Jack's arm as he dried his hands. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah, it hurts."

James came into the bathroom and looked at the bandages. "Can I see it?"

Jack chuckled. "You don't want to see it."

"Uh-huh, yeah I do. I want to see it."

"Go ask your brother."

"I won't tell him you showed me."

"You have to ask his permission first."

"Aw, why?" James followed Jack to his room.

Jack stood in his doorway, blocking entrance into the room. The boy looked up defiantly at him, demanding a satisfactory answer. Jack looked down at the little person and simply replied, "Go ask your brother. If he says okay, I'll show you."

James studied Jack to see if he was serious. Jack didn't break eye contact, and finally James relented and left him alone.

Jack slept throughout the whole night. He had no nightmares and never woke up until the next day.

In the morning, he showered, applied an antiseptic, and fresh bandages, and stared at his face in the mirror wondering if he should shave the beard off. The hair was about half-an-inch long now, and the hair on his head was about the same. His cheeks were very gaunt, and he could see the veins in his arms and on the back of his hands. He looked alarmingly thin, and much older than his twenty-six years. Knowing he couldn't do anything about his appearance as he was still trying to be incognito, Jack gave his hairy face a final wistful glance and left the bathroom.

He went cautiously into the kitchen and didn't find the old woman around. Grabbing a quick breakfast of a bowl of cereal, he retreated to his room again and ate it in peace. When he went back to wash the bowl out, he saw Chris in there, getting breakfast of his own.

Chris said nothing, not even Good-morning.

Jack washed his bowl out and watched as Chris ate his breakfast leaning at the kitchen table.

Jack was about to leave the room without saying anything, but he changed his mind. He looked at Chris, who was chewing a mouthful of food and had fixed Jack with a cold stare. Jack cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I called you a... you know. I didn't mean it."

Chris looked away and put his bowl down. He walked to the fridge and pulled out a package of bacon strips. He set a frying pan on the stove and turned on the gas. Finally he looked at Jack, who was getting a little ticked off at the lack of response. Chris took a deep breath. "It's okay." He paused, and looked away, tossing several bacon strips into the pan. "I know why you did."

Jack's respect for Chris climbed up the ladder.

"You gotta be more careful." Chris advised, as the bacon started to sizzle.

Jack shook his head. "I don't care."

"Darryl would have killed you. Same with Lester."

"I guess I owe you my life then," Jack replied, a twinge of sarcasm in his tone.

"Well, I owe you mine. You could have stabbed me."

Jack shrugged. "You would have lived."

*******************************

About a day or two later, Jack finally cleaned up his clothes and things from the floor. As he picked up his pants, he dropped items out of his backpocket, like his wallet and some pieces of paper, including a crisp white business card. Jack picked it curiously, then turning it over, instantly remembered having received it from Emily.

He had not permitted himself the sweet necessity of calling her to find out about Teresa. Surely she was home by now? He hadn't even thought about her too much. The guilt was too overwhelming.

Jack got dressed and left the house, picking up several quarters from a store along the way. Arriving at a payphone he had no used before, he placed a call to Emily's law office, where she worked. He imagined that she would be there, since it was a little before twelve on a weekday. Her receptionist told him she had just stepped out for lunch, and that she would be back in an hour. When asked for a message, Jack just said he'd call back.

So, after an hour of wandering around, reading magazines or newspapers in search of any articles about either of the murders, Jack returned to a different payphone and made the call to her office. This time, the receptionist transferred him to Emily after asking his name, to which question he lied and said his name was James Tudor.

"Hello, Mr. Tudor," Emily began professionally, "how may I be of assistance to you today?"

"Hi, Emily."

"Hi--Sorry. Do I know you?"

"It's me, Jack."

There was total silence on the phone for a few moments. "Jack."

"Yeah."

Her voice was cold when she finally spoke more than a word again. "I'm a divorce attorney. I think you're looking for a criminal lawyer."

Jack shook his head. He had kind of been expecting this reaction. "I'm not looking for an attorney. I just want to find out how Teresa is doing. And... I'd like to come see her."

She gave an incredulous, short laugh. "I can't believe you have the nerve to call up like this. You're nothing but a liar and a _murderer_."

"I'm not a liar."

"Oh!" She countered angrily. "You didn't just lie about your name? Mr. James Tudor?"

"Okay. Yeah. I did--But that was just so that the receptionist wouldn't get suspicious."

"Don't call me here. Teresa is doing the best she can and she'll do a lot better if you just stay away from her."

"I saved her life! Don't talk to me like that."

Emily was not taken aback by the fact. "Okay. You saved my best friend's life. But what about what you did to Jamie Roscoe?"

Jack didn't confirm nor deny it.

"That man was disabled! He was a registered user of a mobility scooter! He lived in city housing! He was completely helpless!"

"So was my mother, when he and two others guys raped her! Did you know about _that_?"

Still the words didn't stifle her into ashamed silence. "So you did it for revenge?"

"They got away for almost twenty years! For a rape that destroyed her life."

"Listen. I don't care what they did! This country has a legal system and if you want revenge you have to go through that! That's the only way without incriminating yourself."

"Don't talk to me about the legal system. I've had nothing from them but a lot of hard times."

"I don't care about any of that. If you want to be a good guy, you have to go through the legal system to get things done the right way. You can't serve justice on your own. That's also against the law."

Jack pressed his fingers to his temples and squinted his eyes shut. "I don't care about your opinions about the law. I just want to see Teresa, all right? That's why I called."

"Well, you can't see her. She's not in any condition to see or talk to anyone. Least of all you. Don't ever call me again." She hung up abruptly. Jack looked accusingly at the phone. Then he finally replaced it on the hook.

He pulled out the card and checked the address of the law office. She left him with no alternative.

*****************************

Jack waited outside the law office in Gotham City patiently. He wasn't sure how late she left the office, but since he had been there since morning, he had seen her exit for lunch and then re-enter afterwards. The business card said that office hours were over at four, but even at four thirty, and five, she didn't exit the building. Jack waiting in the parking lot - he knew which car was hers - and she didn't return until about seven. He was bored and anxious from sitting around for so long, lying in wait. He did his best not to look suspicious by going around the block, or up and down the street. The day before, he had paid a visit to a Bludhaven barber, one that Chris told him about, and Jack received a good grooming of his beard.

She was dropped off by a car of about three people, and she waved goodbye and hurried back towards the building. She only had a purse with her, and when she came back out she had a large, heavy folder in her arms.

Jack glanced around quickly for people, and discovered none in the unlit parking lot. Her car was the only one in there out of the approximately five spots, and he waited crouched hidden from her. She approached the front of the car, which had been parked backwards, and Jack waited at the back, near the tail light. She walked to the front passenger seat first and placed the folder and purse there. When she withdrew herself from inside and shut the door, Jack made his move. He just stood up to his full height, his shoe scraping on the asphalt as he did, and Emily gasped, and a hand flew to her mouth. She had nothing but her keys to defend herself. "Don't be scared," he said quietly.

Obviously, she didn't recognize him. And naturally, since he was wearing a black hat, sported a beard and moustache, and had lost about twenty pounds. She tried to scream, but he leapt forward and cut her off with his hand over her mouth. Then as gently as he could, he pressed her to the car's side. Her eyes were wide and glistened as she tried to break free. Jack didn't have a knife or anything. He didn't intend to hurt her. But she pounded her fists against his face and shoulders, trying to get away. Jack grabbed one flailing arm and pinned it against the car. If he let he mouth go, she would definitely scream. She kicked out with her heeled shoes, once catching him in his shin. He winced in pain and finally hissed, "Stop! It's me. It's Jack."

She froze for a moment, and then she continued to struggle. Finally she got another good kick at his inner thigh - he knew what she was actually aiming for - and he stumbled back. She rounded the car and panting frantically, she rushed to open her driver-side door. Jack hobbled back to her and she dropped her keys when he grabbed her again, this time, from the back. He put her wrists together and clapped his right hand over her mouth. "Don't struggle," he breathed. That knee in the thigh had _hurt_. He was glad she had missed his groin. She whimpered in fear, and Jack felt tears on his hand. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to see Teresa."

Her chest heaved against his left arm, which held her wrists together. The arm ached from the stab wound injury. Pain killers didn't help. "If I let you go, will you scream?"

After what seemed like several minutes, she swallowed nervously and choked back her tears noisily, and shook her head.

Jack let her go slowly, afraid she might try to flee again. But she did no such thing. She turned to face him and wiped her eyes.

Jack sighed. "I'm sorry. I couldn't just walk into your office."

Her lower lip quivered a little, but she got it under control. She was badly shaken, but was recovering quickly. She pursed her lips. "What do you want?"

"I just want to see Teresa."

"So you attack me like a rapist?"

"I thought you'd recognize me. I wasn't going to attack you."

"Just scare the crap out of me."

"I'm sorry. Where is she? I don't have a number or anything."

Emily rubbed her wrists and tried to examine them. It was much too dark for that. "Teresa is safe. But she can't see you."

"Why not? Is she still at the hospital?" Jack lowered his voice. "Is she worse than before?"

Emily must have noticed the concern in his voice. "She's not really capable of seeing anyone."

"Why _not_?"

Emily brushed her hair back. "She's really, really depressed. Since she got out of the hospital she hasn't gone anywhere. She doesn't even talk to me." She paused. "Losing Drew has hit her hard. I think she needs to see a psychiatrist."

Jack cast his gaze down at the concrete. "Does she know it was me?"

Emily nodded. "She knows. But she doesn't know about Roscoe," she added sharply.

Jack looked at Emily. "Thanks for not telling her."

She looked furious just then. "You're lucky I didn't call the cops right after you called me at work."

"Thanks for not calling the cops."

She looked around. There was not a soul in sight, not one moving car. "She's staying at my house. If she wants to see you, then I'll let you. Otherwise you have to leave."

Jack nodded. "That's fine with me."

They travelled in silence to her house, which was in a clean, luxurious neigborhood of upper-middle class homes. Jack observed the well-tended lawns and bushes and large houses with perfectly shingled roofs. She pulled up into the driveway of a house at last. She told Jack to wait outside while she went in. He waited just outside the front door, and waited for Emily to return. But who came to the door and flung it open was a tall, blond man who could have been a professional athlete. "Oh..." Jack uttered, remembering that Emily was a married woman. Emily hurried into sight after her husband, who turned to her and demanded, "Have you completely lost your mind?"

Emily shook her head. "Just let me talk to her..."

"You," the man turned to Jack. "How dare you attack my wife like that?" He stepped out onto the porch and made Jack back up down the first step.

"Aaron, _please_... He's really not the person to be--"

Jack took another step down. "I just want to see Teresa."

"See? That's all he wants. Just please calm down."

Jack held his hands up to show he had no weapons or intention to harm. Aaron took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he turned to Emily and took her back inside the house. Jack stepped back up to the door and leaned in to listen. "...Do you really expect me to allow that criminal in here?"

"Let me just ask her. She may not even want to see him."

"Now he knows where we live!"

"He's not going to do anything to us! Just trust me."

"Ha!"

Emily opened the door and said, "Just wait here, okay? Let me go ask her."

Jack nodded, warily casting a glance into the house to see if her husband was around. He really wasn't interested in getting into a fight with anyone.

Jack waited patiently on the porch. But he raised his head to the window above him when he heard talking.

It was very faint, and the wind blocked some of the words. "Teresa, hon? There's someone here to see you. Do you feel up to it?"

"Here to see me?"

Emily's next words were drowned out.

Teresa made no reply that Jack could hear. He waited and Emily said, "I really don't think it's a good idea for you to see him. After what happened... It's just not the right time."

Teresa either made no reply or she was talking very quietly. Jack couldn't take the tension. He started to open the door and Aaron opened it instead. He looked extremely angry. "You have five minutes. You hurt either of those women in there again, you'll think prison is a five-star resort."

Jack's arrogance tried to surface, but he held it in check. He had no doubt that this man could put up a good fight. His muscles were well-defined under his T-shirt.

Emily hurried into view and she pushed Aaron away. "She said she'll see you. Please don't tell her anything too serious. I don't know if she can handle it."

Jack nodded in relief. "Thanks, Emily."

As Jack was given directions to the bedroom, Aaron reminded him, "Five minutes."


	59. Pyro

_**Chapter 59 - Pyro**_

Jack walked deeper into Emily's house, which was mildly scented with sweet air-fresheners.

Before walking in he knocked on the door. The warm room was lit only with a small bedside lamp. Teresa was curled up in bed under the sheet, only her head visible, her hair tossed on the pink pillow. Suddenly Jack didn't think his predicament was so terrible. He walked over to her and sat on the bed. "Hi."

She looked at him with almost vacant eyes for a long time. Jack looked away after a long time. Finally she pulled a hand out from under the blanket and touched his right arm. He looked at her again. "Are you all right?" She asked.

Jack answered with a question, "Are you?"

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was wearing an over-sized sweater that almost fully covered her hands. "I've been better."

He took her hand. Using her other one, she rubbed his beard. "You look really different."

"I'm sorry about Drew. I... I had no choice."

Her eyes darkened, and the tiny smile that was playing on her face disappeared. She nodded. "I know."

Jack had been expecting, hoping, really, that she would be angry at him. But there was nothing accusatory in her voice. She reached out again and took his hat off. Then started to push his jacket off. He allowed her to remove it and it slid to the ground. She glanced at his left arm, at the bandages. But said nothing for a long time.

Jack felt Aaron's warning about five minutes nagging in the back of his mind, but he didn't say anything.

Finally Teresa sighed.

"Will you be okay?" Jack asked at last. She wasn't herself. Jack checked her hands and wrists. No marks at all.

"Will you?"

Jack looked at her face, and saw her steady gaze. Although she was probably unstable, her steadiness was unnerving. Emily gave her a lot less credit than she deserved, but Jack understood that Emily was not used to her friend behaving this way. Neither was he. "I'll be fine. I'm worried about you."

"I'm still in shock. I know. I know about Jamie Roscoe."

Jack's blood froze for a moment. "You know?"

Teresa nodded. Her voice took on a dangerous edge. "Now tell me the truth." She bore into his eyes with her own. Jack felt his resolve withering under her stare. "Teresa, I don't want to talk about this. Not now."

She completely ignored him, but repeated herself. "Tell me the truth. Did you kill him?"

He looked away guiltily. "Teresa, please..."

"Jack. Don't you dare lie to me."

"Teresa, don't ask me about this." Jack started to stand up, but she snatched his arm, and dug her fingernails into his skin. Her hand was burning hot, almost like she had a fever. Her eyes glowed in the dim light of the lamp.

"Tell me, the truth."

Jack couldn't look her in the eye. He jumped when there was a sharp knock on the door. "Time's up!"

He blinked, his heart pounding. He stood up again, but she tugged his arm. She pulled him closer, making him bend down towards her. She asked with a still voice, "Did you kill your father?" He felt like he was in the nightmare again, wedged under the dirt, unable to look away.

Emily knocked on the door again, and Jack tore away from Teresa's grip. She just stared at him. He had no idea what she was thinking. He didn't know if she was angry. He didn't know if she was sad. He didn't know if she was going to snap or stay stretched taut this way.

Jack turned to the door and flung it open. Emily stood there, her face terse. "Is everything okay?"

Jack nodded. "I'll be going now." He pushed past her and hurried down the stairs. He was already out of the door and down the steps of the porch, when Emily ran after him with his jacket and hat. "What happened in there?"

"You're right. She needs to go to the doctor. She's not well." Jack took the clothing and pulled it all on. "She knows about Roscoe."

Emily looked amazed. "What? How did she know about that?"

"I don't know. Maybe she went out after all. Maybe she found a computer."

"Oh." Emily glanced at Jack's left arm. "What happened to your arm?"

"It's a long story," Jack replied, and thanking her, left at a brisk walk down the street. His heart continued to pound as his feet carried him further away from the house. That had not gone well. He would have felt much better if she had gotten angry at him. He would have felt so much better if she had beaten her fists against him and told him she never wanted to see him again. But this cold, emotionless demeanor? He didn't want to be around her when she was like that. It was really scary, and it sliced his insides. It made him feel exposed. He really had no idea if she hated him or had forgiven him. Maybe she was still in shock like she'd said. He didn't know if he'd ever see Teresa again.

***********************************

_**Two years later**_

"Whaddaya got?"

Jack shrugged. "Two Uzis, a Smith and Wesson, and for the ladies, a miniature Glock." He winked at the girl who stood there. She had her arms folded over her chest, but smiled at Jack in a friendly way.

The man came nearer and examined the equipment. "The serial numbers aren't filed off."

Jack nodded. "They're not real."

The man frowned. "Huh?"

"They're not the real numbers. If those numbers were run they wouldn't be able to find out the manufacturer. They were never registered. Take a closer look."

Jack had spent a long time figuring out a way to replace the metal plating on the gun. The only way he knew was to sneak into his old work place at Bunker Industries and use the computers to create a new serial number. He knew how to get around inside, how to bypass security cameras and knew all the entry codes to the supply rooms. He had yet to find a customer who complained, yet to find a person who had purchased a gun from him who had been caught. He and Chris sort of ran this together. Chris took care of false papers that people needed to prove they were licensed to carry a gun, as well as false manufacturer certificates. This was much easier since the serial number wasn't even real. The only problem would arise if the people at Bunker Industries ever pulled up old computer archives on the guns. Every serial number ever printed at that place was stored. Even if it was deleted from weekly records, it still collected in the archives. As soon as Jack used the serial number, he pulled up the weekly record and went through a long process of deleting it. This way, while registration took place with the company every week, this gun was not registered because it wasn't listed. Luckily, for Jack, he had once entered the archives and noted that guns other than what he had made illegally were also present. Bunker Industries was run by the mob, and they used it in the same way as Jack. So if they ever found out anything, Jack would be off the hook and the mob would get the whole blame.

Jack saved this method for the best and most loyal customers. There were other methods too, of course, but those almost always involved the resale of stolen weapons, most of the time with the serial number filed off. The forensic labs had ways to find out the serial number though. The pressure used to heat the numbers and letters into the metal usually left pressure points under the filed metal, so the number could still be discovered with the right tools. Certainly, filing away the serial number did buy time for the criminal, but that was about it.

The girl was an exotic blend that Jack couldn't place. Her hair was not her natural color. It was dyed a blue, and was straight. Her skin was fair with dark freckles, her eyes a deep, reddish brown.

"You better not be playin' games."

"Well, if that's what you think." Jack shut the crate. He raised his eyebrow. "Sorry, Babe. No Glock for you." The girl lost her smile, but said nothing. She looked at her partner.

Chris stood idle behind Jack, in a darkened corner of the room. His hands were folded behind him, and Jack knew that was where he kept his trusted Desert Eagle, a large gun that packed quite a punch, almost like a Magnum.

The man had a scrutinizing look on his face. His body was covered in tattoos under his black shirt. He had a bald head and dark eyes. He stared at Jack, who was used to this sort of treatment. He was too relaxed, to easy. Well, that's how he appeared to most people. It was all an act for him. People were reluctant to trust him, because they saw his behavior as risky, almost careless.

Chris had warned Jack countless times about this sort of attitude. Jack didn't care. Better to keep people thinking he was one way, while he was another in reality. They wouldn't see him coming. People suspected Jack was usually off his guard.

But he wasn't.

Ever.

Jack picked up the small crate. "Last chance, dude."

Finally the man gestured for Jack to put the crate back down. "All right. But only because Al recommended you."

Jack grinned. "Good choice. I'll have to thank him later."

They exchanged the guns for a good sum of money, which Jack handed to Chris. Chris checked it over expertly and gave Jack a quick nod.

Jack and Chris were the first to leave, and Jack walked inches past the girl. She reached out and gave his butt a quick pat. Jack almost jumped. He looked over his shoulder and watched as the guy gave the girl a disapproving glare, to which she shrugged and wiggled her fingers as a goodbye to Jack.

The night was cool and clear outside, and the sky held a sickly orange glow from all the industrial fumes in the Bludhaven area, similar to Gotham City.

Lester and Darryl waited outside patiently. When Jack and Chris exited the old, condemned building, they got into the car and started up the engine.

They drove in silence to Chris's house, and in the tiny, cramped basement, they made their cuts, with Jack getting the biggest for all the risks he took in making the weapons.

When this job was over, Jack left the house again.

He wasn't tired. He was wide awake. He didn't have a car, but decided this cool weather was perfect for a long walk. So he went to a local junkyard he visited often. He didn't think the owners knew about this, but there was a hole near the ground on the wire fencing that surrounded the compound. He suspected that people snuck in to steal metals or old items that still worked, and could be used in other machinery.

Before going there, Jack went to a supermarket and bought some containers of lighter fluid, coal, and two enormous steaks. He didn't like to disappoint his hosts. They went barking mad if he didn't bring them something special.

Jack carried the items to the junk yard, and slipped under the fence between a pile of old, worn tires and another pile of car parts.

He couldn't remember how many times he had done this. And how many times more he could before getting caught. Actually, he was getting pretty bored here. He was sure there were other junkyards, but how long could unwanted junk satisfy him?

His current fixation had started because he didn't work in the mines anymore. He had started off small. Matches in the sink, then paper, then cloth. Some things took long to burn, some an instant. Hair for example. It burned in the blink of an eye into a brittle black thread that broke as soon as it was moved. The closest he ever got to his explosives was either when a customer ordered a supply, or on July 4th. It was illegal to sell fireworks locally, but he purposely travelled to Pennsylvania to purchase a whole lot of them.

He didn't have a closed-off place where he could blow stuff up without attracting suspicion. That was the last thing he needed. Sure, cops weren't hunting him anymore. But he could never be too careful.

So here he was, pulling over half a barrel, which was ash-coated on the inside. he turned it upside down and dumped out the bits of burned charcoal, and then poured the fresh coal inside. He searched around for the metal grill he always used, and found it after a while. Then he poured the lighter fluid generously over the coals. He always carried a box of matches. He didn't like books. They were hard to light, and pretty pathetic. They were fun to burn though. He struck one match and tossed it into the barrel. With a slap of heat the fire started up. Jack smiled and carefully placed the grill on the lapping flames.

As Jack finished getting set up, he was joined by his two buddies. They knew him by now, and didn't bark. Both of them were huge Rottweilers with clipped tails. They trotted over, their bodies staunch, stout, muscular. They sniffed the air, and Jack knew they could smell the meat. He pulled it out of the plastic shopping back and ripped it open. They came nearer and almost knocked him down trying to get the dripping meat. "Ah-ah. Sit. It's not cooked yet."

Jack tossed the large hunks of meat onto the fire, and soon the dogs were going nuts smelling the food cooking. Jack patted them and watched the fire cook the meat. He only let it sit there long enough for the meat to lose the cold feeling and become warm, like fresh kill that still hadn't lost it's body heat. He took a long spike of twisted metal and speared the meat, dragging it over onto the ground. "Here you go, pooches." They pounced eagerly on it, snarling as they bit it and tried to tear it. It usually took them a long time to rip pieces of the tough meat into small enough pieces to eat. They just ended up holding it in their paws and gnawing slowly at it.

The first time that he had come here to burn stuff, he had gotten pretty badly mauled. He had been able to get away only because he stabbed both of them. The next time he returned, they were still there. He had half-expected them to be dead, but he was ready, as always. He had brought the meat, which they had eaten raw. From then on, they were pals.

Jack stalked around the yard, growing more and more frustrated as he found things he had already tried to burn before. Rubber tires, paint cans (they blew up, and that was dangerous, but still fun), batteries, broken computers, plastic... So much plastic. Didn't anyone recycle anymore? Once he'd found a dead cat. That had been interesting. Especially watching the maggots trying to writhe away from the flames, crawling for their lives.

Finally, Jack just grabbed the aerosol paint cans and returned to the barrel. The dogs continued to chew at the slabs meat. Jack tossed the paint cans into the barbeque and poured down more lighter fluid. The dogs were not at a safe distance, but they could usually sense danger before it happened. Jack didn't really care if they got hurt. They _had _mauled him once. He could have been killed. They were nothing but a couple of bloodthirsty monsters. The only reason they let him hang around was because he bribed them. They weren't really loyal or loving.

Jack watched the flame whoosh upward momentarily from the lighter fluid, and then he moved back, sitting with an arm ready over his face, waiting for the explosion. He watched the plastic spray nozzles melt first, and then the labels curl away on the paint cans. By the time the labels were completely gone, both cans blew apart simultaneously. That was the only warning really, with these cans. When the label was almost gone, watch the hell out. Jack gave a hoot of laughter, as the dogs yelped and started barking. He leapt up and grabbed the meat again, and flung it at the animals to get them to shut up. They reluctantly went back to eating. Jack knew he had to get out of there now. That was the problem with burning paint cans - he could never stick around long enough because once the owner heard the explosions, he would have to come running out. Jack grabbed the remaining bottle of lighter fluid and hastily escaped the area.


	60. A Boring Night, A Sickening Morning

_**Chapter 60 - A Boring Night, A Sickening Morning**_

Jack stopped running after about three blocks. The lighter fluid sloshed around as he went. Finally he stopped in an - big surprise - industrial road lined with factories and warehouses. The area was empty, but wasn't unguarded. He saw security cars parked near entrances and at intersections. All the lights were off, giving the appearance that no one was inside, but Jack knew better than to assume no one was watching him. He had nowhere to put the bottle of lighter fluid, and it would look pretty weird if anyone came up to him and saw him carrying it. He turned around and left the area, meanwhile, finding a leafy bush to toss the bottle into.

Jack marched briskly away from the security cars. He had so much energy. He had hoped burning some stuff would relax him, but it didn't work. He had noticed with apprehension that the little bit of flames didn't help him relax anymore. For a while there, just watching a bonfire had helped. The bits of wood turning black, the crackling, the popping. The lapping waves of flame, the steady rushing sound. The rushing never got louder. Not unless the flame was bigger. That was probably the only frustrating thing about a fire. That the rushing noise never got louder unless the flame grew. The only way to turn up the volume was to blow shit up. But that noise lasted seconds at best. It wasn't easy to burn a big flame. He needed a lot of things to burn, and collecting it in one place without turning heads was difficult. A few bonfires later, the park he used was starting to look kind of thin of branches. He had to stop. It was making news. _Where is the park going?_

So Jack had gone to the junkyard. It was usually completely free of people, giving him easy access to private burn sessions. But he was sick of burning the same old garbage. There was nothing satisfying about it anymore. It was garbage. No one cared if it was burned to a crisp or a melted puddle.

As he walked along, Jack lit a match and let the wood burn as far as it could go. Then he dropped the match and let the rest of the stick burn as he continued on his way. After a few matches like this, he stumbled upon a lighter. It was one of those cheap fifty-cent lighters that lasted only about four times, then were broken. Jack picked it up and saw through the clear pink plastic that there was still fluid inside. He tried to light it several times, and finally it worked. Holding it on, Jack pulled out a match and broke a piece of the wood off, and wedged it in a way that kept the lighter lit. He placed it gently on the ground and waited curiously. Those things always said, "Do not hold lit for more than thirty seconds." He never had before, because he didn't want to damage his hand. But now here was his chance. Was it going to blow up? Was it just going to keep burning until the lighter fluid ran out? Jack waited for over a minute before anything happened. As it turned out, it didn't blow up, the clear plastic melted and then the whole thing set on fire, sizzling as it did. Jack shook his head. It was like lighting a wet fire cracker waiting for a boom and getting a pathetic hiss instead. He kicked it into the side of the street, hoping that it would at least catch fire on the grass that lined the ditch. No such luck. It fell into a puddle and went out.

Jack pulled out his matchbox and took out all the matches, and held them together in an even bunch. Then he scraped it on the side of the box, and with a crackling whoosh, all the matches lit on fire with a white flourish that ebbed quickly into a reddish yellow. Jack watched the light glow in his hand and dropped the little sticks before he was burned. He stamped on the flames, making small orange embers fly outwards. Well, that was the end of that. No more matches. Not even that shitty lighter. Jack trudged on home, and let himself in quietly.

Jack started to head towards his room, when he heard a noise. He wasn't sure what it was. The house was very old and it creaked sometimes. Jack headed up the narrow stairs, wondering what it had been. It had sounded like something scraping on the wall, but it only happened once, and the more he tried to remember what it sounded like, the less he could recall.

Jack went to the top of the stairs, but changed his mind about going to his room. He was wide awake! He couldn't go to his room. That was solitary confinement. Jack turned around and started very quietly down the stairs. Maybe that had been someone, an intruder perhaps? He had his knife in his pocket.

As he went back down the stairs, he crouched down to get a look at the front door. He saw a small figure there, hidden in the darkness.

Jack stepped loudly down the stairs, making her gasp and turn around. The room was totally dark, and Jack couldn't see her face. But he was sure she looked worried. "You scared me!"

Jack went to the door. He knew he had heard something.

She tucked some straightened hair behind her ear. "Don't tell Chris."

He opened the door for her, but she didn't step out. "None of my business," Jack replied flatly. He walked back out into the night.

"Jack? You're not going to tell Chris, are you?"

Jack kept going without giving her an answer, and stepped out onto the sidewalk, taking a left.

Rose quickly locked up and left the yard. She took the opposite direction, where there was a car waiting for her down the block, and she got in and the car drove off.

Jack thought Chris was overly protective of her, probably because she was a female. Chris didn't see him being nearly so serious about the psychological welfare of his little brother. When James had asked to see Jack's stab wound, Chris had thought about it for a second and said, "Okay."

He wondered vaguely where Rose was going. He had snuck out sometimes while his parents were still alive, and he was still in school, but nothing had ever ended up being worthwhile. As it turned out, he never had any true friends whom he could trust. It was just as well that he was naturally suspicious of everyone. It helped to guard himself against avoidable hurt.

The only places open at this hour, which was probably after midnight, were bars. Jack hadn't a drink a long time. So he walked around until he found one. It was tucked away in an empty street. The neon lights flashed Heineken and Miller, and slow rock music reverberated through the walls. Jack walked in and ordered just one shot of whiskey. After downing the drink and using the lemon wedge provided as a chaser, Jack paid the guy and left quickly. Maybe he would be able to sleep now.

************************************

There was nothing that caused him more despair than waking up in the morning. Seeing his shoes kicked off in the middle of his room. His socks lying in a tangled heap next to them. Particles of dust floating around in a ray of sunlight. Jack usually shut his eyes wishing it would go away. He pulled the sheet over his head, wondering if waking up inside a coffin would be better.

But he had to get up. He had things to do today. Jack started to kick his blanket off. Then stopped. He heaved a sigh. It was a battle. He kicked the sheet off and it slipped over the side. But he couldn't get up. Except of course, to drag the sheet back over his body and curl up again. He didn't want to get out of bed. Just one day. He wanted to lie there and not be bothered by anyone. Maybe two days.

He glanced at his door. Okay, he had to do this. Jack tried not to think about it, and finally got out of bed. He stood there beside the twin bed, almost wondering how he'd managed to end up standing there. It was hard not to think about something while he was doing it. He wandered to his bathroom and studied his face in the mirror. He didn't look tired. That shot last night had done the trick. He had shaved his beard and moustache off. After about six months they stopped talking about the case. He thought it was safe to show himself. Besides, he had lost so much weight he didn't even look like he had in the mugshot. He had even let his hair grow out. It was brushing his earlobes.

Jack usually tried not to hold his eyes in the mirror for too long. He couldn't stand his face. It looked too much like his father's. Too serious. Too angry. Too miserable. Too hopeless.

Jack washed his face and brushed his teeth, then stepped into the shower.

He had to meet with Al Gallagher, his boss. Gallagher was an Irishman. Jack wasn't sure what the hell he was doing so far away from the Emerald Isle, but that man was indistinguishable from the next American. He had the ability to summon up a numerous variety of accents, and his American accent was flawless. Jack hadn't even known the guy was Irish until a year ago. Chris said he'd learned that he was from 'that area' the hard way, but he didn't specify how. Just that Gallagher was a sick fuck that you didn't mess with. And although you couldn't tell to look at him, he was as evil as they came. He had the typical brown hair and freckles on light skin. His eyes were an odd mixture of blue and brown. Coupled with his quiet tone of voice, he bordered on the verge of psychotic. Jack hated meeting with him. He was a person whom he couldn't calculate. He didn't know his motives. Jack hated it. He was worse than Lew Moxon. Something told Jack that if Gallagher had a daughter, he wouldn't bat an eyelid if he was told she was almost killed by her husband.

So Jack dressed himself up after his shower and waited for Chris in the living room. It was just a little after ten in the morning, and it was a Saturday. Naturally, James was downstairs, watching the cartoons. Jack was distracted by his own anxieties about meeting with Gallagher, and thought he heard James moan something about how they weren't putting on the regular cartoons. He moped around a little bit, said _Hi_ to Jack, and went outside. Jack sat down and changed the channel to the local news channel out of habit.

"...Officially pronounced dead. Investigators have not found a body, but since almost three years have passed since his disappearance, detectives have called off the search..." The footage they were showing was of a large, dark mansion. There were several shady trees adding to the ominous appearance. Jack's jaw dropped open when they showed a picture of Bruce Wayne. He was calm and collected in the photo, with a small smile curving his lips. Nothing like how he'd been the last time Jack had met him, disheveled and wild-eyed. "...Doctor Wayne and his wife were shot in an alley twelve years ago, fueling speculation that Bruce Wayne may have taken his own life out of grief and guilt. Investigators insist there is no indication to prove he is even dead, except for the sole fact that he has not tried to contact his guardian, Alfred Pennyworth, for the three years that he has been missing. It is with great reluctance that Pennyworth agreed to call off the search. All estates, bonds and inheritance will now go to Alfred Pennyworth, as stated in the last will and testament of Bruce Wayne. Since no one is clear on when he died, Bruce could have been as young as twenty at the time of his death."

Jack turned the volume down as the anchorwoman switched to another topic. Jack sat there and figured out that Bruce had to have been around twenty when Joe Chill had had his parole hearing and been shot. How long after that meeting had Bruce died? Jack realized he wouldn't be at all surprised if Wayne actually had killed himself. Maybe he'd thrown himself off a cliff. No, that couldn't be. His body would have floated to shore. Maybe someone had killed him. The butler? Jack had not gotten that impression from him when he had seen him at the crime scene of the Wayne murders. Bruce trusted the butler. He had held on like he was his father, wanting him to make the cop go away. Make the nightmare go away. Jack couldn't imagine what could have happened to his body. Maybe he _had _killed himself, and the butler was trying not to desecrate his memory by letting the public know he had killed himself. Or, maybe someone _had _killed him, and then buried him somewhere. Or maybe...maybe...

Well, Jack had done it. It was easy, really, as long as he wasn't materialistic.

Maybe... Bruce had just run away.


	61. Al Gallagher

_I'd like to say that the whole "Irishman" thing was inspired by a couple of things. First, and most of all, it was a game called Bioshock. I just love that accent, especially if it's really pronounced. If you own an X-box360, then get that game. It's worth every penny of the over-inflated price that Gamestop charges. The second reason you'll learn about later. Oh, and sorry this chapter is so short, I've been having a little bit of writer's block about the following portion. Imagine Gallagher talking like an Irishman. Ever seen Titanic? I think that guy's name was Tommy Ryan. Um... Ever seen Duplex? That old crone upstairs is Irish. No! Don't think of a Leprachaun! _

_**Chapter 61 - Al Gallagher**_

In about an hour, Jack and Chris were in a fancy, refurbished basement. The room was in the shape of an L. It had mirrored walls and a bar in the corner of the L. There were a couple of booths of plush red leather seats with mirrored tables at each end of the basement, but the rest of the walls were lined with long shiny red leather seats. And in the center of one shaft of the L was a long table with several chairs, and there was a pool table in the other other shaft. The floor was covered with a dark blue carpet, and the ceiling was plated with mirrors, giving the appearance that the room was much larger than it was.

At the bar was a serious girl wearing a lot of make-up, and she had platinum blond and pink hair. She was clearly the barmaid, and as soon as Jack and Chris entered, she was sent out. There were two guards who let them in, and they stepped out as well. Now there were only three people inside the room.

Gallagher was seated at the bar, and his eyes never moved from the two of them. He gestured to the long table, where Jack and Chris seated themselves. He wore a beige suit with a crisp white shirt and a light blue tie. His shoes were of tan colored leather. His shiny brown hair was so perfectly coiffed he could have just stepped out of the barber's five minutes ago. "Would either of you like a drink?" He asked, his accent heavily, purely Irish.

Both of them shook their heads. Jack noticed that Chris looked especially uncomfortable. Something was up. Even though the room was very cool, Chris was perspiring, and Jack could just barely see dark patches near his underarms. Chris unwittingly dabbed away sweat from his forehead.

Jack had not really noticed in the car ride over here, because Chris was naturally a quiet person, who didn't talk much. Gallagher swished around the drink he had and downed the rest of it easily. "Christopher, how old were you when I was first introduced to you?"

Chris looked at the man fleetingly. "Nineteen."

Gallagher picked up his drink from the bar and smiled reminiscently. "Time certainly flies, don't it? How many years has it been?"

"Six," Chris said very quietly.

Gallagher stood up and glanced at Jack, who calmly returned the stare. "Jack, are you in the habit of stabbin' people in the back?"

Jack frowned. "Not in the habit, no."

"I was hopin' for something a bit more reassurin'."

"Well, let me put it this way. I only did it to people who did it to me first. Is that a better answer?"

"Perhaps. I know you're good at what you do."

"I'm the best," Jack smiled, half-joking.

But Gallagher didn't look pleased at all. "Don't get bloody cocky, you hear me? I've been at this a lot longer than you fuckin' have."

Jack frowned a little. "I was just kidding."

"Just a warnin'." He put his glass down with a plunk on the bar. "I don't have a lot of time, so I'll just come out with it." Gallagher stood up and came nearer, then put his knuckles down on the shiny wooden table. "Somebody's been stealin' from me." His cold eyes went from Jack and rested on Chris. He looked like he was going to say something, but instead smiled at Chris's discomfort. Then he looked at Jack. "D'you have any idea who it could be?"

Jack thought about it for a moment. "Not at all."

Gallagher nodded and looked at Chris. Chris didn't make any reaction. He looked guilty.

"Now I don't know if I can trust you two. But I'm willing to chance me arm and give it a go." He pulled out a sheet of paper from his suit pocket. "Here is a list of the fine gentlemen I want you to investigate. You two are not on the list. You have three months. That oughta be enough time."

Jack took the list when Chris didn't make a reach for it. He had heard of a few of those men, and he definitely knew two - Darryl and Lester.

"I want you to memorize the list and then burn it." Gallagher returned to the bar as Jack started to learn the names. There were about twenty. Chris was staring at the table, moody and almost forlorn.

When the Irishman's back was turned, Jack kicked Chris under the table, and shrugged in question. Chris just shot him a glance, and cast his eyes back down.

As Gallagher poured himself another drink, he asked, "Before you boys leave, is there anythin' you want to tell me?"

Jack considered and shook his head. Chris looked as suspicious as ever, but Gallagher didn't seem interested in him. Instead he was studying Jack. "Last chance, Boy-o."

"No, there's nothing else. Oh, except that I said I'd thank you for sending my most recent customer." Jack sensed that Gallagher thought _he_ was the one stealing. He was giving him a chance to own up. Well, Jack had done nothing. And he wasn't about to get into an argument with the man about the fact.

Gallagher nodded indifferently. "That'll be all for now."

The meeting was over.

Jack was reading the list as they walked back out to the car. It belonged to Chris. Before they got into the vehicle, Jack demanded, "What's wrong with you?"

Chris shook his head. "This don't concern you."

"Have you been stealing from this guy?" Jack asked, flapping the sheet of paper.

"No! I ain't no damn fool."

"Then who is? Do you know who it is?"

Chris sighed and finally looked at Jack. "We have to go look up the people on the list. Let's just get it done."

"Are we going to investigate Darryl and Lester too?"

"They on the list right?" Chris snapped and got into the car.

Jack couldn't see him anymore. He waited for Chris to reach over and unlock his door. "I guess that was a rhetorical question," Jack muttered to himself.


	62. Unsettling Revelations

_Hi everyone, I am happy that you guys think I update really fast. I think if I didn't then you'd lose interest in the story. It's definitely getting really close to the end now, I mean the end of Jack, just a few more chapters probably. Whoa, this story has come a long way! Thank you all so much for keeping up with it!_

_**Chapter 62 - Unsettling Revelations**_

Jack and Chris split up to conduct their own, informal, internal affairs investigation. But Chris told Jack that he wanted to put Lester and Darryl at the end of the list. That wasn't exactly fine with him - he would have preferred to start closest to home - but he agreed only because he trusted Chris. Jack never stopped wondering - or asking - why Chris had behaved so nervously at the meeting. Either he _was_ the thief, or he knew who the thief was. Jack was betting on the second possibility, because he never figured Chris to be a backstabber. However, he was into illegal operations, so there was really no way Jack could be completely sure. Maybe Chris had succumbed to the temptation and stolen something, just once, and never owned up. But that couldn't be right, because Al had talked as though this stealing thing had been going on for some time.

Although Chris had refused to discuss much of this with Jack, and also refused to come along with him even for one person, they had talked a little bit about why Gallagher was automatically tagging the blame onto Jack. On the one hand, Jack was indignant, but on the other hand, given Jack's history, he could understand that suspicion. Not to mention, Jack's quirky, silly behavior. Most, if not all, people were wary of this, and Gallagher was just like them. But the question continued to nag. Why him? Was Gallagher simply feeling threatened by him? Jack was definitely very skilled at his job, there was no doubt about that. If Jack really wanted to, he could easily skim money off the top and Gallagher would never come to know. Jack wasn't stupid enough to leave his tracks uncovered. He had already travelled down that unfortunate road.

One month passed and they were halfway through the list. All of it was going much more smoothly than Jack expected, and after talking to two or three people, he was starting to get discouraged. These people didn't know anything. The idea to steal from Gallagher had not even occured to any of them, let alone one of them actually carrying the plans out. None of them had even met Gallagher, just his personal associates.

Another thing that irritated Jack about the whole situation was that Al had not provided any details about the type of theft. The easiest and most airtight way to steal from a business like this was to build a personal clientele and cater to them without Gallagher's involvement. Basically, cutting out the middle-man. But of course, that would be dangerous only if Gallagher found out, because, well, he was greedy. Even though this way of doing business wasn't exactly stealing, but merely the same as competition between two similar stores, Gallagher considered it stealing because if he was cut out, the actual workers could give the customers a better price than Gallagher could, thereby channeling his business away.

Everything was done in cash and percentages. Once an entire cycle of the transaction was complete, any existing paperwork was promptly destroyed. Basically, one full cycle consisted of a customer meeting an associate of Gallagher and requesting an item. The price was named before anything was ever initiated. Once a price was agreed upon, the associate contacted the worker and commissioned the creation or theft of the item, and then the item made it's way to the customer, either through the associate, or through the worker. Since Chris was a trusted worker, Gallagher had no problems allowing the customer to pay him directly and wait for his cut. Al's associates were trained to remember all the demands and dollar amounts without writing anything down. Most of the time they didn't create paperwork, but sometimes they did. After years of being in this line of work, some things were very easily committed to memory. Some things just became routine.

So when Jack went to perhaps the sixth person, he cared so little for being there that he actually showed up a little drunk. He could usually hide it quite well, but hell, he was frustrated, and couldn't sleep, ever, and couldn't burn anything big enough... Before come here he had fashioned a couple of Molotov cocktails, now _that_ had been fun! He had destroyed two whole piles of car parts and old radios. The junkyard man had a lot of cleaning to do the next day, if the fire crew wasn't still putting out the fire that had started. He had not expected one so large, and was upset he couldn't stick around to watch the action.

So here he was, a little bit drunk, and knocking on some stranger's door who was as likely to just shoot him out of irritation than to talk to him... Well, he was more likely to shoot him. These people weren't exactly trusting.

It came as no surprise when the man opened the door with a gun in his hand. "Who the hell are you?" There was some yellow light in the background that almost completely concealed the man's face, turning him into a rotund silhouette.

"My name is Jack. I'm here doing some work for Gallagher. You can call him first before you let me in."

The man was in his forties, with a bulging gut over his shorts. Jack was only too relieved that the man was wearing a stained T-shirt. He closed the door and left Jack standing there for more than fifteen minutes. Jack started wishing he hadn't drank that stuff, because now he was drowsy and he just wanted to go to sleep. He was having trouble holding himself standing there, so he sat down in front of the man's apartment door. Jack gazed around with blurry eyes at the view from this floor. He was about five stories up. Jack leaned forward on the bars and slung his arms through them. His head didn't fit through the bars though, so he couldn't really look down.

Jack dragged himself back to his feet and gripping the metal banister with both hands, bent far over the edge, his blood rushing to his head. "Whoa." Jack's body stalled for a moment with the unbalanced weight before he righted himself. That had been abnormally _pleasant_. That dizzy feeling.

Jack heard the door open behind him and he turned slowly, and the man still held the gun and waved Jack in.

Jack walked in, instantly smelling cigarettes and noticing that the yellow ceiling light was not really that yellow, it just looked that way because of how stained with nicotine the walls were. Among the detestable odor of menthol cigarettes, there was the hardy goodness of the smell of grilling steak. Jack could hear it sizzling softly from the kitchen. The sizzling reminded him of oil, and as he wondered how long it would take grease to combust under steady heat, he didn't even realize that the man had started talking.

"What exactly are you here for?"

"Oh, nothing. Just to as you a few questions."

The man waited expectantly.

Jack looked around and saw that no one else was around, although the oily walls and furniture seemed to have something of a woman's touch, from the way there were flowers on the coffee table and wall-hangings of kittens.

"Yeah?" The man demanded. He looked annoyed.

Jack could relate. He was definitely annoyed too. "We're alone, right?"

"Yeah. I don't have all night."

"Okay, okay. Do you know of anyone who's been acting weird... they seem to have more money than they should all of a sudden?"

The man frowned a little. "No."

"Have you been approached by any new customers? Any good buyers?"

"Not for about five years. And I already told Al about him."

Jack sighed. He had expected as much. "Okay. Well, no one has been able to tell me anything, so now you have a heads up. Gallagher knows someone is stealing. So, if you find out anything, he has a great big reward for you. Okay? Bye."

The man shrugged. "Okay. I'll let you know. I gotta get back to my food. It might burn." The man left the room and went into the kitchen.

Jack started to let himself out of the door when someone started to open it. It was a tired looking woman in her forties. She was heavy set with curled, dirty blond hair. She must have just been getting back from work. She stopped with a surprised, "Oh!"

"Sorry, I was just leaving."

She stepped aside and let Jack leave. As Jack was about to go down the flight of spiral stairs that led back to the street below, the lady came running after him. "Wait!"

Jack stopped and turned around. He frowned in confusion. "What is it?"

"Can I talk to you for a second? It's about my husband."

Jack yawned from the effects of the alcohol. "Shouldn't you go to a marriage councilor?"

"What? No. There was another man here. Just a couple of days ago. He was talking to my husband, and I was there."

"Uh... You know what your husband is involved in?"

She looked around uneasily. "Can we go talk in private?"

Jack sighed. He just wanted to go to sleep. But this could be important. Maybe he'd find out something about the person who was stealing from Gallagher. "Sure."

They walked down the stairs. "I'm just worried someone might hear us," she said, and glanced over her shoulder. After a few moments, reluctantly accepting that no one was around, she said quietly, "I couldn't talk to that man without my husband finding out. Do you know this man?"

"What did he look like?"

"He was in his twenties. A black man. He was wearing two diamond studs and had a goatie. He had corn-rows. I've known him for years, but I don't see him much."

_Chris. _"Okay. I know him. What did they talk about?"

She rubbed her forehead, exuding stress. "Could all of you just leave my husband out of whatever it is you're doing?"

Jack lowered his eyebrows. "Lady, your husband has been doing this for over five years. Why start caring now?"

"Not that! We need that money, that's not what I'm talking about." She looked around the building again and up at the staircase. "I'm talking about stealing from Al Gallagher. I know how powerful he is. I know that even if my husband gets caught by cops, he's not going to get _killed_. He'll just go to jail. But with Al Gallagher, killing is something he does. I'm afraid that if he finds out he's stealing, my husband will be killed." She paused. "I've tried talking him out of it, but he won't listen to me. Listen, I've never met you, and I know it's horrible for me to ask you this, but could you _please _talk to Chris and tell him to leave my husband out of this?"

"So you're telling me Chris and your husband are working on their own? Is anyone else involved that you know about?"

She shook her head. "There could be. I'm just tired of this. Before I was afraid of getting arrested, or watching my husband get arrested. Now I'm afraid of coming home and finding him dead."

Jack yawned again.

"Will you do it? Will you tell Chris to leave my husband out of this?"

Jack shook his head and gave the vaguest answer he could. "No promises."

She looked around the building again. "I guess that will have to do." She started to leave, but looked at Jack. "We have two girls. I can't support them without his help. If he'd dead I don't know what I'll do. Please do what you can."


	63. Can't Get A Fire Started

_I'm happy to update for you all really quickly. Thank you everyone for being so gracious! Sometimes I find that my words flow much more easily than at other times. It's all coming to a close so, the intensity of everything helps to make the writing go really fast. I'm sad it's coming to an end too, but this is not going to be the last story I'm going to write on fanfiction, and definitely not the last Batman fic. Even though this story is near the ending, I'm sure there are still at least ten chapters to go. That's just a guess though. Could be more._

_I feel like I'm updating _too _fast, pushing all of you too hard to read lol. But I _really _loved writing this chapter. I want all of you to enjoy it! _

_**Chapter 63 - Can't Get a Fire Started**_

Jack didn't even have time to think about the conversation. At the moment he reached the bus stop, a bus was already pulling up, and although he could fight off a couple of ferocious Rottweilers armed with nothing more than a switchblade, he knew he could never, _ever_ fight an alcohol-induced sleep, especially when it was coupled with relaxing drive. He couldn't fight it if he was armed with a bullet wound in the foot and a bottle of extra-strength caffeine pills.

Jack was out like a light and woke up too late. He had missed his stop. Feeling well-rested, but low-moraled, he got off the bus and caught another one, this time, stepping off at the right stop.

As Jack walked home, he was still reluctant to accept it. Chris just wasn't the double-crossing kind. Jack warned himself that this could very well be the truth, but he stubbornly denied it. Yup, he was willing to go with his gut feeling. But that didn't explain why Chris had been at that man's house. Not only that, they had talked about the very thing that Jack and Chris had been sent to investigate. Chris wasn't even supposed to go there. That man was one of the men that Jack was supposed to talk to. They had split up to talk to the individuals on the list because it would be faster.

As Jack entered the house, it grew apparent that Chris had been waiting for him. He turned eagerly. Jack looked at him, wondering if he should tell him he knew something was up. _Of course not! _He scolded himself. "Did you find out anything?" Chris asked.

"No. No one knows anything."

Chris looked like he was relieved, but made no sign of it except that his eyes relaxed. "Who do you want to talk to tomorrow?"

Jack shrugged, calculating nonchalance. "Doesn't matter to me."

**************************************

Insomnia was not uncommon for Jack. Often, he needed a drink to get himself some rest. But tonight he embraced his sleeplessness. He had bought a TV for his room about a year ago, and now it was on, at a very low volume. The murmuring people on TV were incoherent, and it was like low humming. Jack went over a mental list on what Chris could be hiding, besides the fact that he knew who was stealing. He had told Jack that he didn't want to start with Lester or Darryl, but instead, leave them till the very end. Maybe after all this time of humoring Chris, it was imminent that he pay one of them a visit.

However, this was impossible, because within days, it became apparent that the place Jack knew as their shared apartment was actually a bogus address. This caused more unrest for Jack, since he had allowed himself to fall for a con. He definitely couldn't talk to Chris about anything now. His trust in Chris was truly shaken at this point.

As he went along with Chris and talked to the people on the list, Jack started to entertain the possibility of telling Gallagher himself. He wrestled with it most of his waking hours, hesitating because he didn't know Chris' whole story. Maybe he actually had an explanation for not telling Jack the perpetrator's identity. Jack simply couldn't believe he had misjudged Chris. He couldn't let himself be wrong.

Jack shuffled a little bit as he sat up in bed, knocking the remote noisily to the floor. He didn't bother to pick it up right then, and soon it was forgotten. He glanced indifferently at the TV as a flash of skin filled the screen. It was a moisturizer commercial. He went back to gazing at the darkened floor. It lit up now and then in white and blue shades from the TV. The corners of his room were submerged in shadow. He felt like he was in a submarine that was flickering lights and bleeding air. He stood up, accidentally kicking the remote across the floor. It skidded to a stop near his door. He just left it there. He had too much on his mind. Jack couldn't stay in this room. He had to get some air.

The streets were empty after midnight, even with such pleasant weather. It was impossible to feel uncomfortable in this cool, clear atmosphere. Spring was definitely here.

Jack made his way to the junkyard out of habit. But he didn't have any of his tools of destruction. He didn't even have matches. But it was just as well, since the wire fence had been sealed up. Jack walked back and forth a little bit, thinking that perhaps he was in the wrong spot. Yeah, it was definitely fixed.

Did they really think this was going to keep him out?

The two dogs appeared from around the piles of twisted metal and old junk, and came right up to the fence. They were expecting some bloody treats. Jack let them sniff his hands, then walked away.

*************************************

_You can't keep __**me **__out. Maybe someone else, but not __**me**__._

Jack dropped his bag on the ground with a gentle thud. The lighter fluid inside sloshed around within the bottles. He dug around inside and pulled out a pair of heavy-duty wire clippers. As crickets around him started to chirp again, he put the teeth of clippers around the metal of the wire fence. Using both hands, he pressed the handles together until he heard a _snap_.

_Do you _really _think a wire fence is going to stop __**me**__?_

Jack didn't stop until he clipped up enough of the wire for him to bend it outward so he could slip inside. The whole time the dogs had been watching him, waiting. He had let them sniff the meat. They knew. They kept silent.

Jack pulled on the cut wire one last time, but this time he sliced his hand by mistake. He winced in pain. It started bleeding freely. He shook his head. "Shit," he whispered. He didn't have anything to stem the bleeding. Finally left with no alternative, he took out his knife and cut off the arm of his T-shirt that he was wearing under a light jacket. He tore the fabric into strips and wrapped it around as a crude bandage.

_You'd better not try to stop me, you'll be sorry. _

Jack had to first check if the owner was in his home. He couldn't have him sounding the alarm. Not this time.

_You'd better not be inside. You'd better hope you're not._

Jack gripped the bag and slid into the junkyard. The dogs waited eagerly, sniffing around and pawing at his bag. At one point, one of them whined, and Jack was trying to keep quiet. He was so coiled up from stress, from not sleeping. He was trying not to get distracted from his main task, and these damn dogs just wouldn't shut up! And his burning hand didn't help the situation. It burned ferociously. It had been mere minutes since he'd cut his hand, and it already felt infected. Jack snapped and kicked out with his leg, catching one of the dogs sharply in it's side. It gave a small yelp and jumped back. But the surprise faded quickly and the dog barked. Jack dropped the bag and kicked the dog again. "Shut up!" He hissed. Now the dog was angry. It lunged at Jack's upper leg, and although it didn't get a bite, it knocked Jack over.

Jack was mad, but he was also a little annoyed. He'd been through this before, and he had won against the dogs. The dog leapt forward and went for Jack's neck. Jack guarded his throat with his left elbow, the dog darting this way and that to get a good bite in at its assailant's vulnerable neck. Jack elbowed the dog hard on it's snout, and it stepped back quickly, momentarily stunned. Jack had forgotten about the other dog, which had just been watching curiously for a little while. Jack leapt to his feet and pulled out his switchblade. The first dog shook his head, and started growling, it's hackles raised, nose crinkled viciously. The other dog started circling around, slowly getting riled up too. Jack waited for the first dog to lunge again, and very predictably, it did, at his legs like the first time. Jack just barely dodged to the side, and spitefully kicked the animal twice as it's back was turned. As the animal regained it's balance and spun around to face him, Jack dug into his pocket and pulled out the knife, switching it open with the flick of a button.

He didn't give the dog a chance to attack again. He pulled back the knife and leaping slightly to the side, stabbed the dog in it's ribs, feeling the blade travel right between a couple of bones. The dog gave a horrendous, prolonged yelp and shrank back. Jack drew the knife out and stabbed again, this time, into the dog's neck. It went down.

Jack had stopped paying attention to the other dog, which just then slammed into Jack's back and knocked him to the ground. Jack felt the dog bite the top of his head and his nape, tearing flesh and pulling out hairs at the roots. Luckily, he had not let go of the knife. He clutched it tightly, the pain enraging him. This stupid mutt was not going to win. Jack pulled his foot up into the air and ventured a stiff kick at the dog's hind-quarters. A few tries later, he succeeded, and the dog turned on his foot, on his sneaker. Jack used the opportunity to turn a little, and he sank the knife into the hollow in front of it's thigh. The dog bounded away so forcefully that it took the blade with it. Jack staggered to his feet, and put a hand on his neck. It came away covered in blood, his whole bandaged palm, and every single one of his fingers. It was coated with fresh blood, and even in the dark he could tell it was so red it could burn the retinas.

The dog was lying down, tending to it's wound, whining softly. Jack balled his hands into fists and stalked over to it. The dog heard him coming and stumbled to it's feet, the injured hind leg hanging limply down as it tried not to put weight on it. Jack broke into a run and dealt the dog a cruel and terrible kick upward, like he was kicking a football. The dog's head snapped back, and it's jaws shut with a loud click. Jack knocked the dog over with his hands and dug the knife out. Holding the dog's squirming head down, he plunged the knife down into it's neck. It didn't make a sound when he did, except for a wet popping noise as he ruptured the animal's throat. After that Jack heard bubbling gurgles as the dog started drowning in it's own blood. Blood frothed at it's neck wound.

Jack stood up finally, heaving a sigh of satisfaction. He glanced sidelong at the other dog. It's belly heaved as it labored for oxygen. It's tongue was hanging out and dripping blood into the surrounding dirt.

Jack ran his right hand through his hair. "That's for trying to kill me." He sighed again, feeling his heart racing and his hands trembling from adrenaline.

He swallowed, and felt a trickle of blood run under his shirt. He touched it again with his left hand, and the blood was already becoming a sticky mess.

_Click._

Jack froze.

"Don't move you piece of shit." He heard a man's gravelly voice behind him.

From the sound of his voice, the man was about ten feet away, at the door of the lone building. The building was two stories high, and obviously the lower part was the office, the upper part was the living quarters. Jack ventured a look over his shoulder, and when nothing happened, he turned fully.

"Put those hands up." The man nodded his head up. Jack ignored the order.

He could tell the man wasn't really used to wielding a gun. Jack could also tell by the man's shifting gaze to his dogs that he was flabbergasted by the fact that his dogs lay dying. When a man was being chased by a couple of butch rottweilers, he ran. He didn't stick around and fight to the death. "Don't move, or I'll shoot."

Well, there was only one way to find out if the guy was telling the truth. Jack stepped forward, and the man faltered a little. He stepped back. Jack smiled, more to himself than at the guy. _Yeah, he's not going to shoot. _It was a smile of pity, of mockery. The man hardened his stance, parting his legs and taking aim. "Don't come any closer. I'll shoot."

"No you won't," Jack chirped.

The man didn't rise to the challenge. Instead his resolve seemed to grow weaker by the second.

Jack took another step forward, forcing the man back into the office doorway. His body was cast into total shadow, and apparently he knew this because he drew inside quickly and slammed his door shut before Jack could reach him. Jack ended up slamming into the door and bashed the side of his knife-wielding hand on the door. Okay, it was over now. No time for games. The guy would call the cops and they'd be here soon.

Jack grabbed his backpack and walked past the first dog. Then he turned around and saw that it was still alive. He stomped it viciously in it's stomach. The dog flopped up a little bit and went back to heaving it's last breaths.

Jack left the junkyard. He'd have to find something else to burn.

But first he had to get cleaned up. The blood running down his back was unpleasant. He could almost smell it too.

He returned to the house and slithered quietly up to his room. Jack had locked his door before leaving, and now he unlocked it again. He stepped inside and shut his door quietly. Quietly, he let the backpack slide to the ground, and then looked at the rectangular black shape on his bed.

The remote sat silently on his pillow.


	64. Looking for Answers

_**Chapter 64 - Looking for Answers**_

Jack frowned. Hadn't that remote been on the floor? He turned and looked at his door. He was still holding his keys. It had been locked up properly. And yes, he had changed his locks within weeks after moving into this house.

His thoughts raced as he tried to remember if he had ever let his keys out of his sight. If anyone had gotten their hands on his keys, they could just make copies and then just as easily as him, unlock the door.

Jack reached under his bed and pulled out a flat chest he stored there. Over his several months working for Gallagher, Jack had collected his own set of weaponry. It was easy for him to get his hands on the most difficult-to-aquire items, like silencers. But he had them, and now he picked up a silenced 9mm. Jack held the weapon down at his side and walked to Chris' room, his footsteps light and stealthy on the old wooden floors.

How long had he been gone? An hour or so? Someone had managed to come in and leave almost without a trace in that short time. What had they been trying to do? Chris knew Jack slept with a shotgun by his side. He knew to knock before seeking admittance. He should know better than to try to come inside uninvited. He could have been killed.

Jack gently turned Chris' doorknob. It turned quietly and Jack slowly opened the door. He nudged it open with his bandaged left hand. It was still covered in blood that by now had caked and dried up. Crumbs fell of as he pushed the door. The room was actually quite well-lit with moonlight. Slivers of silver were cast across the floor and across Chris' slumbering body. He was on his back, head turned towards the door. Jack pushed the door quietly shut, leaving it ajar only about an inch.

Jack felt a sense of deja vu as he slinked closer, slightly hunched as he snuck up. When he was close enough to shoot Chris point blank, Jack reached out fluidly and pressed his blood-stained hand on Chris' mouth and nostrils. He stirred and came awake. When he saw Jack glaring down at him, his eyes widened and he started to wriggle. Jack slowly raised the gun and let Chris see the silenced weapon. Chris grew still. He eyed the glinting metal as it moved over to the center of his forehead. He shook his head a tiny bit. _Don't shoot_, pleaded his eyes.

"I'm going to remove my hand. If you move except to talk I'll shoot." He paused. "Why were you in my room?"

Jack waited patiently for a reaction of any kind. But he grew more and more agitated as Chris' brows furrowed in confusion. Jack removed his hand and Chris' face contorted in disgust at the dried blood residue on his face. "I wasn't in your room."

Jack moved the gun back a little. He was telling the truth. How could this be?

Jack straightened up, already lost in thought. That left Darryl and Lester. Chris raised his right hand and wiped at his lips. "Boy, you crazy."

Jack snapped out of his thoughts. "_Am _I?" He asked steadily. He raised the gun again, and waved it nerve-wrackingly at Chris, who shifted uneasily. "Hey, tell me. Am I paranoid too?"

Chris didn't answer.

Jack summoned a mocking tone. "Do I need help?" He nodded patronizingly. "Medication? Hospitalization?"

Chris swallowed nervously. "Get that thing out of my face," he whispered, for fear of raising his voice.

Jack rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, feigned concentration by bringing his eyebrows together. "Yeah, I'm paranoid and crazy, and I'm just imagining all these things in my head. You're totally innocent, you don't know anything. Darryl and Lester are your best buddies and they would _never_ do anything wrong. You're all saints. Right? _I'm _the one who's got it wrong. _I'm _the one who's crazy. _I'm _the one who'slosing it. _RIGHT?!" _Jack's eyes flashed back to Chris' frightened face.

Chris flinched as Jack's final bark echoed against the walls.

"Well, humor me for a moment, will you? Could you tell me what's happening in a way that my crazy, paranoid mind will understand?" Jack added sarcastically, "And tell me something I'll like. Because you know. I'm crazy."

Chris turned his eyes away for a moment. Then he mustered a little strength and looked into Jack's eyes. "Just put that thing down. You're not going to shoot me."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "You wanna bet on that?"

Chris' voice faltered a little as he answered. "I've known you for two years. You wouldn't do it."

Jack shrugged. "I guess you want to bet your life on it." Jack straightened up and raised the gun at Chris' horrified face. "Wait!" He cried, throwing a hand out as though he could stop the bullet. "You lost this wager," Jack said, falsely apologetic. He fired the gun. The bullet hissed as it left the weapon and a loud crack could be heard as it flew into the headboard behind Chris. Chris was trembling with his eyes shut and his hand still out. He blinked and looked at Jack, his expression nauseated.

Jack didn't lower the gun. "Oh. I missed," he said flatly. "Lucky break." Jack wagged the gun at Chris. "Now tell me what the hell you're hiding."

"Chris, what's going on?"

Jack wasn't startled by the sudden, childish voice. Instead he felt more like he was being pulled out of a haze. He turned and saw James in the doorway, squinting from sleep. Jack glanced at Chris one final time and turned as though he had just been leaving. He held the gun down at his side. He didn't think James could see it in the shadowy room. He was probably a silhouette to the boy, since the window pouring in moonlight was behind him.

Jack walked to James and roughly rubbed the top of his head. "Nothing. Don't become a backstabber like your brother." He pushed James out of his way, a little too hard, elliciting a cry of protest. Jack walked to the bathroom. He had to get cleaned up.

*******************************************

Damn it, he'd been so close. Just, right there. In his next breath Chris would have talked. Well, if he hadn't vomited first. He really hadn't thought Jack would fire that gun. _Really_ hadn't.

Crazy. _HA_! Yeah, he was crazy. Crazy mad. Crazy _furious_. And this _pain _wasn't helping! Jack set the gun down with a heavy clatter beside the sink. He pulled off the crude bandage. His hand burned something terrible as he ran cold water over it. It hurt more than when he had first sliced it open. Eventually the water washed off the most clotted part of the blood around the wound. He needed stitches again. If there was one thing that could actually kill because of boredom, that was it. Stitching. Seriously, how bored - or boring - would you have to be to _sew_ for fun? Or knit! The only thing that made it a little bit interesting was the fact that the fabric was skin in his case...

He'd been so close! He shouldn't have raised his voice like that. No, he shouldn't have yelled. He woke James up. His room was, after all, right next to Chris'. Only a thin wall of wood and plaster wall separated the two rooms.

Leaving the water whooshing into the drain, Jack wiped at the smudges of blood on his face. His eyes blazed with radiating, risidual anger. Brown-red streaks lined the sides of neck, blood that had leaked down from where that damn dog had chewed on him. He scratched at some of the blood. It crumbled away. He had no choice. He had to have a shower. The water ran tinged and snaked with red into the drain for most of the time. When he stepped out of the shower his towel was bloody as he dried his body.

As he was musing about how the sight of blood once made him sick just to look at it, he thought of his mother. Jack stopped and looked in the mirror. _Then_ he thought about his father. He wished he didn't have to see _him _every time he looked in the mirror. Those light brown eyes, that haunted look, those brownish gold curls dangling down, framing his face. Especially the sharp jawline. He hated his face. It was so fucking serious.

The only way to change that was to smile. Smile and everything changed. But there was nothing to smile about.

******************************************

The next day, Jack and Chris shared breakfast in heavy silence. Jack stared at Chris, while Chris kept his eyes averted. Jack was just burning up inside. He wasn't even watching his food. He was watching Chris as he slowly, mechanically chewed his food and spooned more cold cereal into his mouth. Waiting for a slight movement. Fight or flight, that's what he was waiting for. People didn't take well to someone continually staring at them. Chris was no different. But, Jack had to admit, he was able to hold out a lot longer than most people.

He knew it was coming. So he wasn't surprised when it did. Chris jumped up and flung the half-eaten food into the sink along with the bowl. There was a loud, hollow tumbling and Chris grabbed Jack by the collar. "Stop, doing that," he muttered angrily through gritted teeth. Jack felt cold milk and cereal drip down his shirt. He looked down and tsked. "Damn it I have to change my clothes now."

"I _ain't_ playin'." Chris gave Jack a shake. He looked like he wanted to wring Jack's neck. Jack rolled his eyes. "Let's make a deal. Tell me what's going on and uh...I don't know. What the hell do you want in return?"

Chris studied Jack's face for a moment and then let him go. He left the kitchen.

"Aw, come on! You don't want me to put a gun in your face _again_ do you?" Jack asked as Chris stomped up the stairs. "It's getting old, you know!" Jack sighed in frustration and tore off some papertowels from the counter. He cleaned his shirt as much as he could and mopped the milk and cereal off the floor. As he finished what he was doing, he heard footsteps down the stairs. Jack stepped out of the kitchen a little bit, bringing the stairs into view. Chris was wearing his normal attire, baggy jeans, sneakers and a large long sleeved shirt. He was tying a du-rag over his head. He took a breath. "There are only three more people left. I'll take Darryl and Lester, you take the other guy."

"No way. _I'll_ take Darryl and Lester, _you _take the other guy. Do you think I'm a fricken idiot?"

"Why can't you just stay out of this? This don't concern you!"

"The fuck it doesn't! Someone was in my room yesterday. Who was it?"

Chris tsked. "I don't know, man. Are you sure someone was there?"

"Are you sure there's a bullet still lodged in your headboard?"

"Listen, you don't want to get involved."

"You're right. I don't, but I have no choice. I already _am _involved! Who broke into my room?! What do they want with _me_? And why in the _fuck _does Gallagher think _I'm _stealing from him? And why did you tell that fat-ass Ryan to lie to me? You lied to me too, motherfucker! What the hell are you hiding?!" Jack had Chris in his clutches, and his face was inches away. Chris didn't look afraid like he had last night. But he looked like he could understand Jack's frustration. Finally Chris closed his eyes briefly and gently removed Jack's tense hands. "All right. We'll go to Darryl and Lester together. Just, let me use the phone."

Jack shook his head. "No way. We're going. Now. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Come on, man. Just give me one minute."

"I said, no."

Chris shook his head and dug out car keys from his pocket. "All right. Come on."

Jack didn't ever let Chris out of his sight. He didn't even change his shirt after all. By the time they reached their destination, the milk stain had dried and hardened.

Darryl and Lester _did _live in the same apartment. At least that much was true. Before Chris knocked on the door, Jack stopped him and stood out of the view of the peephole. Then he nodded his okay and Chris knocked on the door. It opened after a few moments, and Chris walked in first. Jack was standing against the wall next to the door, so whoever opened the door didn't see him until he stepped into view.

"What the _fuck _is he doin' here?"

"Come on, let him in." Chris sounded tired.

"Nuh-uh! Have you lost your mind, son?"

Jack tried to go inside and Darryl stopped him. "You ain't comin' in."

"Why not? You were in my room, weren't you?"

"Huh?"

"You know, you're lucky I wasn't there? You might be dead right now."

"I wasn't in your damn room."

Jack noticed then that Darryl was a little too shifty. He was usually very relaxed. And he wasn't antsy because he was lying, which he was. It was because he was on something. Jack rammed Darryl deeper into the apartment hallway. Chris quickly shut the door. "Jack, man, stop that. Be cool."

"What were you doing in my room?" Jack demanded Darryl. Darryl pushed Jack back. "Get the fuck off me!" Jack didn't care now. He pulled his fist back and pummel Darryl in the face. Chris jumped into view and started pulling Jack off. "Stop! Stop it!"

Darryl wiped his cut lip and leapt forward, his right hand balled into a fist. "Darryl, no!" Chris' cry came too late and Darryl was able to get in a good punch at Jack's face. Chris let him go and jumped inbetween them. "Now stop this!"

Chris wasn't able to hold either of them, as they took hit at each other around him.

This went on for a few moments. They stumbled unwittingly in the living room, knocking over CDs, electronics and a lamp in their wake.

Jack gave Darryl a final punch and caught a glimpse of the sliding glass door. It was fully curtained and the edges of the curtain were taped down with duct-tape. On the floor were several bricks of white powder in clear plastic wrapping. "Holy shit," Jack breathed.

Darryl stopped trying to hit Jack, and swiped the back of his hand against his upper lip. Chris was shoving Jack away meanwhile, when he stopped and his eyes widen at something behind Jack. "Lester, don't!"

Jack spun around in time to see Lester standing there grimly in all his muscular hulk, and a black crowbar hurtling at his face. When the iron made contact, pain exploded across the left of Jack's face as he heard and felt bone and teeth breaking. Jack's vision flashed bright white. He stumbled to the right, unable to stand steady. His hands went out to catch himself as he fell, but he was unconscious before he hit the floor.


	65. Tonnelly Treatment Plant

_**Chapter 65 - Tonnelly Treatment Plant**_

"We ain't talkin' 'bout this no more. Tie him up."

"Darryl, _think _about what you're--"

"I said tie him up!"

"He didn't do nothin' to you!"

"Fine. I'll do it you damn pussy!"

Jack couldn't move or protest as someone hefted him off the floor, where he was lying face down. The disorientation was so severe he couldn't even feel anything emotionally. He could just hear voices talking. He barely understood what they were saying.

All he saw was blackness. Forces out of his control handled his wrists and ankles. When they finally let him go, Jack's head limply rolled to the side, knocking ever so gently into the wall behind him. Then he felt it. The _pain_. He gave a strangled moan.

"We can't take him out now, it's morning. We have to wait until tonight."

"He's awake! He needs to go to the doctor. He could have brain damage."

"What is wrong with you, man?"

A sigh. "He needs to go to the hospital."

"I can't believe this. Lester, help me on this will ya?"

A deep rumbling voice, "Brother Chris, we need your help on this."

"I ain't want no part of this from the beginning! Just fucking look at him! This is wrong. Lester, please think about this."

"I'm not losing my chance!" A voice hissed. "Not to this punk-ass motherfucker!"

"Al'll _kill _him!"

The voice demanded cruelly, "Who gives a fuck?"

"Listen, because of him we've made a lot of money these past two years. You can't do this to him."

"I ain't never needed _no_-one to make money! I earn my own money!"

A long pause. Then a quiet voice accused, "You've been taking too much of that shit. I told you never to start. It's messin' with your mind, Darryl. Two years ago you woulda _never _done this."

"Why do you care so much anyway? Who the hell is he to you?"

"This really ain't the time for that. He could be dying."

"He looks okay to me." Some chuckles.

"Come on. Let me call emergency. This ain't funny. This is serious!"

"You ain't callin' no one. And you're telling Al our story."

Jack stirred. He could finally move. Well, a little bit at least. He dragged his head up straight, and let it rest on the wall behind him. He struggled to open his eyes, but only one was working. The muscles pulled on the other one, he could feel it, but the eye didn't open. He rolled his right eye around the room. Everything was a hazy mess of colors. He blinked a few times, greatly clearing his vision. Now he could see the tops of the heads of the men from behind the sofa. Jack rolled his eye down at himself, and saw drops of blood on his shirt, his jeans and saw that his wrists and ankles were bound together. He groaned again, trying to talk. His mouth tasted like old blood, metallic and bitter-salty. Pain shot around his skull as he attempted to move his jaw. He gasped. His hands slowly reached up to his face. Gingerly he touched the left side of his face, his eye. It was swollen shut. His fingers felt like sharp stabs of ice on his inflamed flesh. His face didn't even feel like his own on the left side. He felt like his head had been run over by a school bus.

Jack moved his head forward and instalty regretted doing so. He gave a strangled scream.

"Stop moving!" A voice said urgently.

Jack moved anyway. The same pain splintered over his face and skull, but he was ready for it this time. He looked at the person who came into view. "Wha...?" Jack asked, his lips barely moving.

Another person came into view. "Maybe we should just kill him now. And tell Al about it later."

Jack understood _that_. He lethargically pulled his knees closer to his body, and bending over to the left, placed his bound hands on the floor, trying to get up. A pair of hands stopped him by gripping his shoulders. "Stop moving."

Jack gave a groan of protest.

"No one is going to kill anyone! Stop it."

Jack looked at the person's face. It was Chris, who looked up the man who was standing.

The standing man bent down and Jack could see his face. It was Darryl. "I'll just sedate him then."

"No. You don't know what that might do to him."

"It ain't gonna kill him."

Jack wriggled again as Darryl walked away. "Chris..." Jack strained.

Chris patted his shoulder and shook his head. "I told you I'd take Darryl and Lester. Sometimes you just don't fuckin' listen."

Jack had no answer. He watched as Darryl came back into view after several minutes with a syringe. Jack backed away to the left. He couldn't hold himself up though, and he fell to the side, his head hitting the floor. The impact was so jarring he blacked out for many moments. When he came to Darryl was finishing up administering the sedative. Jack looked at Chris. Chris looked down at Jack. His face was a mixture of emotions. Jack swallowed. He hoped the sedative killed him.

****************************************

Jack heard voices. And the low rumbling of a car engine.

"We've been driving for two hours, where are we going?"

"Over to the Tonnelly Treatment Plant. Al's going to meet us there."

"Why there? I thought that place was closed."

"Yeah it is. Anyway, Al already thinks Jack is the one who's been cheating him. You're going to tell Al that you found out with us that he was dealing drugs."

"I ain't tellin' him that!"

"Are you goin' to rat us out?"

"No of course I ain't."

Jack slowly fluttered his right eye open. Everything was dark, except a few lights that hurt his eye as they flashed by. They were moving.

"Then you have to tell him that he was pushing drugs without tellin' Al. He trusts you. He'll believe you."

"I can't do that."

Jack's eye shifted to look at the back of Darryl's head in the driver's seat. He glanced back at Chris. "Then we'll tell Al that you were in on it with Jack."

"_What_?"

"We have no choice. I'm not letting this fucker take away my chance to become an associate. I've been waiting for almost ten years. Two years and Al decides to promote him? Why the fuck does he deserve it?"

"I'm not telling Al that Jack was the one pushing drugs."

"It's our word against yours. Al will believe you're stealing from him. Wanna know why? He knows you're friends with Jack. He knows you two work together. He knows you live in the same house. He'll believe it in a second. And guess what happens when Al believes us?"

"You can't do that!"

"I can, of course I can. Guess what'll happen? He'll send some people over to your house and kill everyone. Is that what you want?"

Jack moved his eye over to Chris. Chris looked near tears. "They're your family," Chris answered, his voice cracking.

"Yeah. They yours too. Think about them before you talk to Al."

Jack shifted his gaze to Chris. His eyes were glistening. His lower lip trembled for a moment and he caught Jack's eye and quickly looked away. "Darryl, you don't have to do this."

"Now, Chris, don't make me mad. Don't _get _me mad. I'm warnin' you."

Chris looked at Lester helplessly. He sat stoically in the passenger seat, diagonally across from Jack. "Lester..." Chris pleaded. "Lester, why can't you talk some sense into him?"

Lester looked indifferent, but his voice was a little sad when he spoke. "It's too late for that."

Chris looked around and buried his face in his hands. Jack sighed and shut his eye. He felt more aware of the situation now than he had before at the apartment. This was not the first time Jack had been close to dying. The closest he ever came to it was when his father tried to kill him and even then he hadn't felt this sense of deepening dread. Jack was bound - he may as well have been gagged, he couldn't talk too well - and they were talking about pinning something on him that he hadn't done. Sure, he'd done a lot of stuff in the past, and most of the times he hadn't been innocent. But this time he really was. Completely.

After all this, he was sure that Darryl had been in his room. Lester wasn't on drugs, and he definitely wasn't careless enough to leave the remote on the pillow. He took the time to smooth out details. Darryl was exactly the type to cut corners and not think clearly. He was sure that Darryl had been there in an attempt to kill him. It would be easier to blame something on Jack if he wasn't alive. The dead don't defend themselves against false accusations. Jack wasn't surprised that Chris knew nothing. Darryl was getting ready to set up Chris himself. And he was family. What chance did Jack have? And as much as Chris would hate it, he would surely hand Jack over to Al if it meant buying the safety of his vulnerable family. Jack had noticed over the years that Chris said nothing about his 'work' to his family. He protected them even from himself.

_I'm fucked now,_ Jack thought grimly, the stone in his stomach getting very uncomfortable and heavy. Jack gently leaned forward, wincing at the pounding in his head. His arms were now bound behind him. His shoulder popped loudly. "Oh, he's awake," Darryl mumbled.

Jack caught a glimpse of his face in the passing headlights on the highway. One side of it looked like some bloated monster with blue-black blood right under it's skin, the eye completely swollen shut. Blood had leaked out of his ear and hardened into a dark strip. The other side was his own face, bloodless, pallid and sweaty, with a dark circle of gray under his eye. Without moving his jaw, Jack attempted to talk. "Darryl, I don't...want...to be an associate." It was a little difficult, but there weren't any sharp stabs of pain like before. Just a dull ache. He thought he could feel a couple of his teeth loose inside the back of his mouth. They weren't set in row with his other teeth anymore, and all he had to do was open his mouth and they'd fall out.

"Is that boy talkin' to me?" Darryl was incredulous.

"Look, he doesn't even want to be an associate," Chris said. "Just let him go."

"So what? Al still thinks he stole from him."

"Why does he think that?" Chris asked finally.

"Because." Darryl turned the rearview mirror so he could look at Jack's face. Darryl's face was a little bit swollen around the lips where Jack had punched him. "That's what I told him."

"You told him he was stealing when he wasn't?"

"Yeah." Darryl returned Jack's hateful glare.

Chris shook his head. "But he's not. You are."

Darryl shrugged. "He doesn't have to know that. Actually, I found out he already suspected Jack."

"What? Why?"

"'Cause of the way he acts all the time. Like he doesn't give a shit."

Chris shot a look at Jack. Jack knew Chris had warned him over the years to keep that in check.

Jack wet his lips. "But Al knows everyone... never buys any...where else once they buy from me."

Darryl obviously knew this was true, and his expression turned grudgeful. "Yeah, he thinks you're too good at what you do. That scares him. He wants to take you out before you get caught, 'cause if you do, you're going to talk. Besides, you're already a fugitive to begin with. And not from across the country, but from the next fuckin' town over. A lot of people go back and forth from Gotham City to Bludhaven. Who's to say they ain't gonna recognize you?"

"Did you think of all that by yourself, Darryl?" Jack asked condescendingly.

"You just wait motherfucker. You'll wish I'd killed you."

"Ha!" It hurt Jack to do it, but he forced his cry of pain to form into laughter. Even Lester turned to look at him. Jack's eyes were streaming with tears of pain, but his throat relinquished strained laughs. Jack cut himself off with a fading cackle, and wiped his right cheek with his shoulder. "If I get out of this alive, you'll... wish you... were already dead."

Darryl smirked, his confidence back. "You won't get out alive." Darryl nodded. "We're almost there."


	66. Jack, Have You Ever Been To Glasgow?

_Long chapter, make sure you have a little bit of time before starting. _

_This chapter is rated M for extreme and cruel violence. Please read with that warning in mind. A Glasgow grin is a deathly grim phrase and it's a very real, vile form of torture inflicted on people. _

_**Chapter 66 - "Jack, Have You Ever Been to Glasgow?"**_

Jack had a feeling he was right. He glanced at his door. It was locked. He couldn't reach the lock without attracting attention. His wrists were bound behind him. What was he going to do? How was he going to get out of this? His only hope was Chris. Chris could tell the truth, and risk getting turned in. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Jack could hope, at best, that Chris would be able to stall Al from carrying out the sentence long enough so Jack could get away, or prove his innocence. At this point there was no telling what Al was going to do. No wonder Al knew someone was stealing. The amount of drugs in Darryl's house must have added up to at least a couple of million. There was no way he could handle all of that by himself. He must have been getting help. And from lots of people.

When they pulled in through the destroyed gates of the treatment plant, Jack could see the looming tanks, three of them, each about two or three stories high. The tanks were a decayed white against the dark blue, night sky. Directly in front, at the end of the long, two-lane driveway were three blackened one-story buildings that looked like airplane hangars. They were barely visible against the sky, and Jack could only distinguish a faint outline.

Darryl parked the car just outside the first one, and got out of the car. Jack glanced around warily at the surroundings. As soon as Chris came around and helped him out of the car, a chemical stench wafted into Jack's nostrils. Chris looked as disgusted by the odor as Jack felt, his face contorted. Jack's hands were still bound, but his feet were free. He could run if he wanted. He might get away. Jack couldn't see too well here. There were no street lamps, and Darryl had already shut off his car's headlights. Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance, hidden in the overgrown grass and weeds.

Jack was surprised anything grew around here, the smell was so overpowering. He felt like he was being gassed with toxins right now. He wondered what happened to this treatment plant for it to turn into this poisonous acreage.

He decided not to try to run. They could just catch up to him in the car. Plus what the hell was he going to do with his hands bound? Jack twisted this way and that, and felt his pockets, wondering if maybe by some miracle they had not found his switchblade. Damn. He'd never been that lucky.

His head pounded with a dull ache, but if he moved his jaw, that's when the pain hit him hard. So he moved his head as little as possible. Darryl walked ahead, Jack and Chris followed together, and Lester tagged along behind them. The building had a large mechanical door on the front, but also a side door. Darryl made Jack and Chris wait outside the building while he disappeared inside through the smaller door. Jack looked at Chris. Then Lester. He stood there like a bouncer, his hands together in front of him. He calmly returned Jack's stare with beady black eyes in dark, moustached face.

Chris turned to Jack and started to rip the duct tape off. Lester lumbered over and stopped him. "You can't do that."

"Lester, now get off me! This is wrong and you know it."

Lester seemed to gently push Chris away, but he actually stumbled back. "Darryl is not the only one involved. There are others. You won't win."

Jack frowned. He had guessed correctly. There _were_ others. But how many?

Before Chris could answer back, the door behind them opened and Darryl came back out. "Let's go inside. Al's waitin'."

Jack felt his stomach lurch. His legs wanted to make a run for it, but his brain knew there was no point. He could barely see, all he needed was to fall once to be caught. Besides, he wasn't going to give Darryl the satisfaction. So he smirked a little at him as he went in first. Jack wasn't ready to die a snivelling coward. A laughing lunatic, maybe. No one wanted their prey to die that way. He was sure Darryl wanted him to die begging for mercy.

Darryl didn't like the mockery. He knocked Jack into the wall of the narrow hallway and pulled out his gun. Jack's grin widened through the intensifying pain. "Do it."

Darryl had his teeth gritted and cocked the hammer.

"Do it, do it. I _dare _you." Darryl's hand shook, rattling the gun. Chris held both his hands out. "Darryl, calm down."

"Let's play a game. Let's see how much self-control you have. Do it. I dare you to kill me, right now. Put a--"

"Damn it, Jack, shut up!" Chris yelled, his voice echoing in the hallway.

"--Bullet in my head. You hate me, right? Want me to stop talking? Want me to shut the _fuck _up? Do it. Spill my blood and destroy my pretty face. You know you want to. Go ahead. You have self-control? Hahahaha! You think you do. I'm going to prove you don't. Look at you--" Darryl's left fist tighened on Jack's collar.

"Jack, shut up!"

"--You're pissed. I win either way. If you kill me, I win. If you don't kill me, well, Al will. You still lose either way. You're nothing but a loser. And you'll die a loser! Hahahaha--!" Darryl drew the pistol back and brought it down on Jack's face. Jack choked off his laughter and crumpled to the floor. Jack swallowed blood and spat out two partial molars. "Loser," he whispered. Darryl kicked Jack in the stomach. Jack couldn't breathe for several moments. Chris jumped inbetween them and shoved Darryl away. "Stop it! He's just trying to get you mad! And you're fallin' for it!"

"Get off me!" Darryl pushed Chris away, but apparently knew Chris was right.

Jack wondered briefly if it was worth all this pain watching Darryl get so worked up. _Hell yeah!_ Jack issued a small, breathless giggle. "You always... were stupid, Darryl. Can't you... tell... when someone is picking a fight?"

Chris grabbed the gun from Darryl's hand and put it in his jeans waistband under his T-shirt. He helped Jack to his feet. Jack swayed and Chris aided Jack to stand. "Jack, if you don't shut up, I'll gag you myself."

"Nah, Al isn't a moron to fall for my tricks."

Darryl, fuming with his shoulders tense, led the way down the dimly lit hallway into a gray room that smelled like paint and mold. It looked a conference room that was being used for storage, and had been for years, from the appearance of outlines of shelves on the walls. The only thing that possibly suggested it was a conference room was the position of the windows, and a faded white-board. Planks of wood stood lined up against the wall, mixed with wavy sheets of corrugated metal. On the opposite wall, a darkened doorway and subsequent room attracted Jack's eye. That back room was completely dark against the bluish-white light of the one Jack stood in. In the corners sat heavy-duty, battery powered lights, not much different from the ones Jack used in the mines. The brightness bleached out all color from everyone's faces and clothes. Their skin was a pallid, shiny blue. Their shadows, black ghosts on the walls and floors. The only color Jack could see was red, and even that looked like congealed blood, almost fully black.

What surprised him the most was that there were several other men inside the room. All of them were seated on wooden crates, the floor, on one of the few chairs, on the window sill, at the edge of a rectangular table in the middle of the room. All of them looked indifferently at Jack. He recognized most of them as men he had talked to. He didn't allow any emotion to fill his eyes, but merely glanced at the darkened doorway and the blackness beyond when he thought he saw a shadow moving. Parked dead center at the table was the only empty chair in the room. On the table sat one of those lamps, a fresh roll of duct tape and a small dagger in a black leather sheath. Jack glanced curiously at it, but on the contrary to looking like something from a curio shop, it looked quite modern, like standard equipment for law enforcement.

Jack had no expected the presence of other men. In fact, he hadn't even given any thought about what to expect. Except that he was probably going to die. None of this felt real. Maybe because it had happened so many times before, brushing fingers with Death's hand. He always managed to slip away, an oily eel. _But what about this time?_

Jack glanced around at the men's eyes, searching for accusation, hatred, discomfort, anything. He wondered how much they knew, what lies they'd been told, how far they'd been manipulated. There was no way to know. And now all of that was inconsequential. He had to escape. The fact that his movement was restricted didn't help uphold Jack's prior confidence. Darryl was easy to taunt, but Al was not so psychologically inferior. It would take a lot more effort to talk Al out of killing him. And Jack was getting more and more uneasy at the idea that there were other people in the room. Ordinarily he didn't mind an audience, but that was when _he_ was in control.

Chris passed a glance at Darryl, then reluctantly started to undo Jack's bonds.

Jack's right eye flitted to the doorway again when a shadow passed by. Someone was pacing. "I'm very disappointed in you, Jack," came Gallagher's quiet Irish voice. Chris paused in his task. "Do continue, Christopher. And when you're finished, bind his wrists to the arm-rests." Jack sat down on the chair when Chris finished removing the duct tape. His wrists were still sticky from the glue, and he hesitated before laying his wrists down on the arm rests, hovering his arms inches above. He looked around first, gauging whether he'd be able to make a run for it. There were about six other men. And Lester blocked the exit like a stone gargoyle. Jack slowly lowered his hands to the wood as Chris picked up the roll of tape and coiled it around Jack's right wrist. "Be sure to do a fine job," Al's voice murmured.

Jack kept his face stoic. Wouldn't it just be easier to shoot him? _Definitely_. But it was more fun to torment the victim first. If anyone knew, it was Jack.

He was determined not to say anything. He knew Gallagher already presumed he was guilty. It was all these men's words against his. And most of them had been working with Gallagher for over ten years. Jack had been part of the team for barely two. All he needed was one person to say something negative about Jack and he would immediately grow suspicious. It was only natural. No amount of protesting his innocence would make him so in Gallagher's mind. In the caverns of his thoughts, Jack was already guilty. Already dead. Jack knew it. He felt trapped.

Chris walked slowly to Jack's left and taped him down. His forehead was dotted with sweat that glistened in the bluish white light of the lamps. When he was finished, he placed the roll of tape down. And he raised his hands placatingly. "Mr. Gallagher, before you--"

Jack flinched each time as a gun fired in quick succession from the darkness beyond the doorway. Three times he saw Al's grim face and body flash into view of the spark of the gun. The noise was hollow and deafening in the confined room, and Chris made a small moan as he staggered back a step. Jack stared wide-eyed at him, horrified. Chris gripped the back of Jack's chair, briefly brushing his shoulder, and fell to the floor.

His ears still rang with the gunshots. Jack was holding his breath, and he let it out in a sharp exhalation. Chris moved a little on the floor. Darryl hadn't made a sound so far.

"Perhaps next time, Christopher, you'll give more thought to where your loyalties lie." He paused. "Jack, now that I have your attention," Al began calmly, and stepped out of the blackened room. However, he didn't continue talking. As he came nearer he emptied out the barrel of his revolver and let the bullets fall on the floor with leaden tinkling. He clicked the barrel shut as he stopped across the table from Jack. He placed the gun down. "Darryl, is this any way to treat your fam'ly?"

Jack couldn't see Darryl's face, and nor did he care to invest the pain in the movement. Jack suspected his cheek was broken, and the pain was wrapped like steel cables all down the left side of his neck and shoulder. But Al's words lurched Darryl into motion and he helped Chris sit up. Chris cried out in pain. Jack finally took a look down, even though the coils of pain in his neck tightened sharply to do so. Darryl glanced up at Jack, his expression gaunt. _Are you happy now?_ The words danced on the tip of Jack's tongue, but he bit them back. Darryl had not expected this either. He helped Chris to his feet and walked him to the edge of the room. Chris left patches and smudges of blood. It looked like black oil in the light.

Jack's heart was pounding, quaking his body. He looked up at Al. Al was leaned forward, his palms flat on the table. He was studying Jack, and thinking. Jack swallowed. He had not expected Chris to get shot. He was definitely in worse shape than Jack. How long did he have before it was too late? An hour? Thirty minutes? Less--?

"Jack, have you ever been to Glasgow?"

Jack locked eyes with Al. Half his face was in black shadow, the other in pale light. The question confused Jack. "What?"

"Glasgow. It's a city out in Scotland. Have you ever been there?" Al stood up and loosened his tie. He started pacing again, very slowly.

Jack frowned slightly. "No." Jack voice caught in his throat, so he cleared it. "No," he said, more clearly.

Al took off his suit coat and tossed it aside onto the floor, raising a cloud of sparkling dust. He turned and started coming back to the table. "I lived there for a while." Al took his left hand and pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "Makes me tired to think about it sometimes. It's a bucket of shite, Glasgow."

Jack watched Al pace across the room and come back to the table.

"Y'see, there are a lotta gangs over there, in Glasgow. Me step-brother and I, we belonged to one of them. This was many years ago. Y'know, we were stupid young cubs and all."

Jack didn't like this. He didn't want to hear about his past. It didn't even matter now.

Al stopped and rolled up right sleeve, taking great pains to get the folds precise and with as few wrinkles as possible. Jack stared at the fabric. Al wasn't looking at him. "Young men do brash things. It's only natural."

"I--"

Al lifted a finger to silence him. "That wasn't a question." He turned attention to the other sleeve, and was equally careful. Jack shut his mouth. "I warned him y'know. Me brother. He never could lend an ear for more than two fuckin' seconds."

Gallagher then did the weirdest thing. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Jack's persistent frown deepened. Al opened his wallet and drew out a credit card. He tossed it onto the table. Jack looked at it. American Express. Al folded his wallet and put it away quietly. "People get greedy sometimes. Don't you agree?"

Jack didn't answer.

Al smiled. "That _was _a question, Jack. Has that injury impaired your cognitive abilities?"

Jack tore his eyes away from the credit card. He briefly shut his eye. "No. I mean. Yes, I agree."

"He was a traitor, my brother. I'll spare you the boring details." Al rolled his eyes as he spoke. He went to one end of the table and moved it away from Jack. Now he felt exposed and naked. The table wasn't there anymore to protect him. The shadows shifted and swayed over the walls and ceiling. Jack moved his feet uncomfortably. Al spoke with his back turned. "They have a special way of dealin' with traitors there." He picked something up from the table and turned around. Jack squinted his good eye and saw that it was the credit card. What the hell was that going to do? Al walked over and gripped his jaw. Jack winced in pain as Al tilted his head back.

Al bent the length of the card and shoved it into Jack's mouth. The card tried to hold it's shape but just ended up stretching out the corners of his mouth, curved like an orange wedge. Jack blinked. _What the fuck?_

Al turned away and returned to the table. Jack look at Al when he turned back. He was unsheathing the knife. _Oh shit, no._

Jack clicked his tongue against the plastic, and shook his head a couple of times. Al gripped his face again and tilted it up. "I had such high hopes for you." Jack pulled his head out of Al's grip and turned it away. Al didn't hesitate even for a moment. He clutched his fingers in Jack's hair and turned his face back towards his own. Jack moaned at the expectant pain and shut his eye. Al slid the knife into Jack's mouth, grazed the blade against the plastic and made a small incision into Jack's left cheek. Jack screamed and tried to snatch his head away. He gripped the arm rests with his hands, his knuckles turning white. Al didn't relinquish his hold. For the first time using brutal force, he yanked Jack's hair back so that his neck was exposed. Jack cried out, and Al cut the other side. He sawed the knife out of Jack's mouth, and teased the credit card with his finger. He finally let his hair go.

Jack writhed horribly on the chair, trying to wrench his arms free. His eyes were streaming with tears, his voice in choked sobs. The credit card was bending outward, trying to regain it's flat shape. It was tearing Jack's mouth apart. Jack bent forward and blood spilled down onto his lap, warm and wet. He leaned to the side so he could get his hand to his face. He had to pull that card out. He could feel the plastic moving, stretching the cuts into jagged gashes as searing pain washed over him in wave after wave. With slippery, quaking fingers, Jack reached into his mouth and yanked out the card with a scream. The plastic clattered to the floor and blood poured out over it with wet splats. In the bluish-white light it was like glossy red tar. Jack didn't sit back up, but panted, hot tears seeping from his eyes.

Al came nearer again and Jack hid his face with a whimper, afraid of more torture. But Al didn't do anything else to him. He just cut his right wrist free with the same blade, and gently pushed Jack's head away to cut the other hand free. Jack's hands immediately went to his mouth, blood oozing through the gaps between his fingers. He sat there hunched over, body heaving from the pain.

"Remember," Al said. "No knives, no guns. When he stops screamin' throw him in the mud pit."

Jack watched as Al left the room through the same door Jack had entered through. Jack saw the knife still sitting there on the table. He jumped to his feet and stumbled over to it. It was still covered in his blood. Jack snatched it up and stood backed up against the table. Blood continued to leak out of the gashes and down his neck and soaked his shirt. Now he knew why the other men were in the room.

Darryl and Chris still sat on the floor. Chris was alive, but he looked unconscious. Darryl had spots of blood on him, and Lester was crouched down next to them, supporting Chris around the shoulders. Jack didn't think he could expect any help from them. The other men slowly stood up, and like a unified, trained team, spread out evenly around Jack. Jack gripped the blade tighter, feeling his heart fluttering in his chest. He had lost a lot of blood, and it wasn't slowing down either.

He noticed a man getting ready to make his move. He stood right in front of Jack. Jack bent lower and grew ready to stab him when he lunged. But because his left eye was swollen shut, he lacked visibility on that side. Jack didn't even see it coming. The man on the far left bowled him over and the table skidded back noisily. Jack fell and the blade slipped out of his grip.

This broke the dam and released all those men's attacks at once. Two of them kicked Jack simultaneously in the torso while one of them stomped on his leg. Jack screamed involuntarily, and felt his mouth tear some more, this time, the bottom lip. He clapped his hands over his lips and muffled his screams as they continued to beat and kick him. Muffling his cries kept his flesh from ripping anymore, but he was starting to lose strength. There was no way to hold off the attacks and hold his lips together at the same time. He took about twenty or thirty swift kicks to his torso, and even a few to his face. He felt a couple of his fingers break. Jack wasn't screaming anymore. He couldn't. He was half-dead and almost unconscious. He was an unrecognizable pulpy mess and he watched with bloodstained vision as they swathed a towel around his nose and mouth. They lifted him up and carried him to a car outside. Jack couldn't move anyway, he just watched, his eyes unblinking. The put him in the trunk and left it open as they drove over uneven ground.

They drove a little bit and dragged his lifeless body out of the car. Jack's head lolled back and he saw the black sky, the men's legs. Their faces.

Jack couldn't see where they dropped him. When they dropped him in there he sank slowly into the cool mud. It was Jack's grave but it soothed his aches. The last thing he saw before he fell unconscious was the heads of the men disappearing and the sky looking down, black, heartless and apathetic.

_It really hurt to do this to Jack. But like J-Horror Girl mentioned before, you can't give birth without pain. _


	67. Rebirth

_Whew, that last chapter really took it out of me! Needed a break. A few people commented on the whole use of the credit card in the previous chapter. I just wanted to say that I learned about the gory details involved on Wikipedia. I actually tried it out, and well, even without cuts it hurts the sides of the mouth. My sister told me she thought I could have pulled off the whole story in first-person. So I decided to change it to that now. Sorry it took so long to put up this chapter (compared to my other updates). Our cat died. Thank you, J-Horror Girl for your condolences. _

_Sorry, really short chapter. _

_I just want to point out that this style of writing is mine. I haven't seen anyone else use it and I created it specifically for the Joker to fit his character. Maybe someone else used it before I did, but I have yet to find a fic that writes from the Joker's POV like this...so if and until I do, this style is mine. We are all writers here and I don't think anyone else would want to use this style of writing, because let's face it, everyone wants to be unique and original. But just in case, I decided to just mention that if anyone does, then please don't plagiarize, let people know where you saw it. Remember, the word plagiarism doesn't only encompass words, but ideas too. Thank you._

_HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE __HA HA HA HO HO __HA HAHA HA __HA HEHE HA HA __HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE __HA HA HA HO HO __HA HAHA HA __HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 67 rebirth

hmm. rebirth huh? could you get more unoriginal? well, at least it fits.

uh, since you're sitting there anyway, let Me give you some good advice. if you can avoid waking up to the act of fellatio on a plastic tube... you probably should. but once you do, it's not like you can do anything about it. you're pretty much screwed. get ready to heave until your eyes feel like they're melting and your throat feels like an asmatic's throat inflammed with salted sandpaper. that's what happened to Me.

it was a room too clean to feel comfortable in. so white that just thinking about a woman wearing a skirt ending over the knee would make you feel disgusting. it was an ocd sufferer's haven. needless to say, My nightmare.

usually, had I been sedated, it wouldn't have mattered so much. I think that's what they thought. but I was awake. at first My gag reflex didn't work. My eyes blinked twice. slowly, sticky. I was blinded by the whiteness of the room, even more than the lights. I raised My right hand a little, bent it upward at the wrist. no questions ran through My head, no panic, no fear. no emotion as I realized My arm was strapped down. I twisted My left elbow. same problem with that arm. strapped down. then I turned My head. _then_ I gagged. I lurched upward, trying to sit. I couldn't. My chest was strapped to the bed. _then_ I started to worry. I felt something push air into My lungs, and suck it back out. I fought it, tossing on the bed. the air forced in. forced out. _forced_. I gagged again.

'nurse!' a woman screamed. forced in, forced out. _hiss. hiss._

I strained against the straps that went across My chest. forced in forced out. _hiss hiss_ I shook with effort as I reached My left hand's fingers towards My face. My brows furrowed together. _hiss hiss _

I brushed the tube with My fingers. forced in forced out. _hiss hiss_

'nurse!'

come on! I bent a few millimeters forward. I felt the strap over My chest cutting into My skin through the hospital clothing. but it was worth it. I was able to coax the tube into a grip and I yanked it out. i felt the skin around my mouth tear when the tape came away, and the tube hissed in protest, scraping across My convulsing throat. when it flopped out at last, flecks of saliva hitting Me in the face, I started coughing. I labored for air. I fell back on the bed, wheezing. I should have been able to breathe better now. not worse. My watery eyes squeezed shut, tears ran down the side of My face. I tugged at the straps. one hand couldn't reach the other. I pulled My legs in and tried to use them to break Myself free.

the bed shook and rattled, the wheels squeaked. the equipment around the bed trembled. I sucked in a ragged breath, feeling like I was breathing through layers of heavily woven scarves. My throat burned. I heard a door slam open and I turned my head as several people tumbled in. there was a woman standing in the corner, her hands over her mouth her eyes glistening with tears. one of the first nurses to walk in ushered her out quickly. I yanked My left arm and looked down. I saw a couple of drops of blood on My chest. the color was so vivid, luscious and distracting in this white room, I almost forgot I couldn't breathe. for a span of about three seconds I stared at it, the seconds dragged out. they felt like a minute or two. I don't know why. maybe it was shock. then about four people jumped on Me and held Me down as the doctor pulled out a needle and lowered My hospital shirt collar. I glared at him with My eyes, My voice non-existent. _"_Don't_,_" I mouthed the warning. there was a plastic thing practically welded to My chest. the doctor emptied the needle's contents into this thing, completely ignoring My word. I labored for air, but relaxed anyway, letting My head drop onto the pillow. I couldn't hold Myself up anymore, I was tired. but I never broke my stare from the doctor's eyes. he didn't look worried at all. don't you hate it when someone doesn't take you seriously? just because you're the patient and they're the doctor. you're demeaned. a commoner. a layman. an _object_. all of them still continued to hold Me while they waited for the medicine to take effect. to be honest, I was waiting too. the doctor met My eyes evenly. he wasn't afraid at all. in fact, he _smiled_. My right eye twitched at the audacity. he patted My panting shoulder and walked to a tray at the edge of the room.

My breathing had grown easier, but I still had to fight for it. that was probably the thing making Me so tired.

the medicine didn't start working. something told Me it never had been.

they let Me go and only the doctor and one nurse remained, poring over some file near the tray.

I raised myself up slightly and looked down at My arms. those restraints were made of nothing but cloth and nylon fibers. I noticed My skin was very white. I glanced at the doctor and nurse, and they had a healthy glow. My skin on the other hand, was pale, and glistening transclucently. I could see the blue veins raised under My skin. how long had I been here? hidden away from the sun like some troll under a bridge? I let My head drop back on the pillow. I needed My strength back before I did anything.

how long? why was there blood on My chest? I stuck my tongue out slowly and immediately tasted it. more blood. and there was something inside My mouth too. on either side, a long, uneven, fat rope of flesh. I pulled in the side of My mouth to feel it better, closer against My teeth. it stung a little, and ached alongside that stinging. where had that come from? there's no way I could have chewed the inside of My mouth so much?

wait. why couldn't I remember anything? what had happened to me? who had that woman been? the one who had shouted for a nurse? my sister? girlfriend? hmm, she had looked a little dull. don't know if she was in My tastes. but then again, I had only seen her for a moment. she looked she was going to start crying too. uh, that _really_ didn't seem like my type. who wants someone that's always whining about something or the other--

'do you know where you are?'

I slowly moved my eyes towards the owner of the voice. the doctor stood there looking expectantly at Me. wasn't it important for the doctor to create a positive relationship with the patient? why was he cultivating hatred in Me?

'do you understand what i'm saying?' he asked Me.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's not going to work," I mouthed.

the doctor furrowed his eyebrows and walked closer. 'do you know where you are?'

I rolled My eyes. My voice wasn't working at all. I forced a ghostly whisper. "It's not going to work."

'can you please answer my question?'

I closed My lips and turned My head away. I wasn't, uh, some trained cat to jump through flaming hoops for this guy. for all I cared he could take that stethescope and hang himself with it.

the doctor gave a quiet chuckle and muttered to the nurse, 'let me know in the next couple of minutes. he'll have to cooperate eventually.'

_WHAT_?! I snapped My head back to see if I could hear anymore. but he walked out, and the nurse followed behind him, but not before glancing back at Me uneasily over her shoulder.

two minutes. I counted. she took three minutes and twenty-one seconds to re-enter. but she didn't stay. she just gave Me a glance. My eyes were alert and unblinking. "I told you it wouldn't work." all the force I used on My voice only yielded a whisper. her face blushed a hot red and she immediately left the room.

she returned within one more minute with the doctor. he looked a little puzzled, but not concerned at all. 'let me administer another one. check that file again and see if he got his doses on schedule.' she glanced at Me and moved to follow her order. 'everything seems okay. i'm not sure what's going on.'

the doctor walked over to Me again. there was no point in giving him another warning. I stared at the ceiling as he stuck Me with the needle.

I played with the idea of faking effectiveness of the sedative, but then, if I did that, I would never find out how many it would take to actually work.

turned out, that sedative was completely ineffective. _completely_. after that, they stopped trying to sedate Me. I wasn't fighting.

eventually, they let the woman back in. she was probably in her mid to late thirties, but she looked very tired. she wasn't crying anymore. I stared at her blankly as she came over and bent down over Me in a warm hug. 'i'm so glad you're okay.'

_Okay?_ "HA HAHA!" My voice broke the surface of my whispers intermittently. She pulled away. No. She cringed.

do I seem okay to _you_?

yeah, I didn't think so.

_I read that the Joker is the only character in the whole Batman Universe that has 'fourth-wall awareness'. I just went with it. I'm sure you're noticed on the Dark Knight DVD that he marked up the back of the box and doodled in the screenshots from the movie lol. _

_HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE __HA HA HA HO HO __HA HAHA HA __HA HEHE HA HA __HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE __HA HA HA HO HO __HA HAHA HA __HA HEHE HA HA_


	68. My first minutes awake

_HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE __HA HA HA HO HO __HA HAHA HA __HA HEHE HA HA __HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE __HA HA HA HO HO __HA HAHA HA __HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 68 - My first minutes awake

she stared at Me, puzzled and uneasy. she brushed the side of My face and pulled away. she dragged a wooden chair over and sat down in it. I turned My head to the right and stared at her. who was she? her hair was a dull brown, like she didn't take care of it. her skin was smooth, and little pale, like she didn't go out much. she wore a long skirt and a baggy sweater, even though it was hot in here. make up didn't conceal her freckles and her hazel eyes weren't embellished with make up. "_Who _are you?" I asked finally.

she looked up and took a deep breath. 'they told me You might not remember.'

I idly licked the left corner of My mouth. I could still taste blood. "Looks like _they, _were right."

'we haven't seen each other in--'

"Do you have a mirror? I want to see My face."

'i don't think that's such a good idea. You should wait.'

I cocked an eyebrow up. "Do I look like a monster?"

she hesitated. 'no, You--'

I cut her off. "you took too long to answer. I want to see."

'Jack--'

"That's My name?"

She sighed. 'yes, that's Your name.'

"Now I _really_ want to see My face." I looked at her. "Do I still look like Jack?"

she studied My eyes hard. for several moments she stared, trying to decide. then she shook her head and looked away. 'no,' she whispered.

there was a lot of sadness in her voice, but remorselessly, I said, "Do you think you could remove one of these restraints?"

'no, I can't do that.'

I thought she might say that. "So, are you related to Me or something?"

'no.'

I smiled and winked. "Girlfriend?"

'no.'

"Hmm. How long since we last saw each other?"

'two years.'

"So what are you doing here then?"

'i got a phone call. from someone called chris. he told me You were here.'

"chris, huh? Doesn't ring a bell. Do you have a mirror?"

'You already asked me that. no.'

"I already--? Well, go find one. I want to see My face."

'You might not like it. they told me to wait.'

I raised My head and looked at the wall near the door. there was a black purse sagging against it. "you're a woman. that's your purse. you must have a mirror."

'Jack, i just want You to relax a little bit. You're thinking too much.'

"Maybe I'll remember something if I see My face."

that did it. she nodded and muttered, 'maybe,' in agreement. she stood up and retrieved a compact powder from her purse. clicking it open, she held it in front of My face. I raised My head again to be able to see. I stared for several moments. no recognition. no memories. no spark. "Hmm."

'anything?' she asked, for the first time showing a ray of energy.

"Nope. But I am a handsome devil." I turned My head to the right, then to the left. the gash ran long, deep and ragged. black sutures lined it evenly. "Charming smile, don't you think? Haha--ow--hahaha!" My whole mouth was hurting. those cuts had a lot of healing to do. must have hurt like hell when I got 'em. can't remember though...

she pulled the mirror away. "Hey." I protested.

'why are You saying things like that?' she asked disapprovingly, worried.

"What do you mean?"

'sick stuff. why are You saying that?'

"What's the big deal? It was just a joke."

'well, it's not funny.'

I shrugged. "It's okay. Not everyone has a sense of humor."

'Jack. do You remember anything at all?'

"Nope. Nothing."

she closed the mirror and sat there with it in her hand. then she looked at Me. 'don't You want to know my name?'

was that important? I studied her face. she looked hurt that I hadn't already asked. if she wasn't My girlfriend, why did she care so much? wait. I did look old enough to have a wife. and I hadn't asked her if she was. however, I didn't _look _like the marrying type. I certainly didn't feel like it. and would I actually consider a miserable woman like her to be with? I crinkled My nose distastefully. didn't seem likely. but maybe before I ended up here I would have--

'Jack. Jack?'

I snapped out of My thoughts. blinking, I realized I had stared off into space. "Huh?"

'my name is teresa.'

I was amused that she said it with dignity. she looked, frankly, too pathetic to actually possess any.

"Are you My wife by any unlikely chance?"

'no,' said said slowly. 'and what's that last part supposed to mean?'

oh, how predictable. she was offended.

she may have been vibrant and attractive once. I could entertain that possibility at least. but it didn't seem like she cared about much these days. I could see her in...oh, I don't know, in a black and pink flowery dress, fabric swaying in the breeze, hair dark and glossy, lips plum red...this could be a memory. "Have I ever seen you in a flowery dress?"

She frowned. 'no. i don't dress like that.'

"Yes," I agreed sarcastically. "I can see that. What I mean is, have I ever?"

'no.'

"How long have we known each other?"

she gave it a little thought. 'since i was twenty-four. that means... since You were sixteen.'

I easily absorbed the information. "So how old am I now?"

'You're twenty-eight.'

I raised My eyebrow, urging truthfulness. "And we're not married, right?"

she sulked a little. annoyed, she asked, 'do You have some kind of problem with that idea?'

"you just don't seem like My type, that's all. Nothing to get worked up about."

'who's worked up? and besides. You're right. i'm _Jack's _type.'

I scoffed. "Yeah, sure. I don't think a guy like Jack would go after someone like you. you look really dull, if you don't mind My saying so."

she showed some semblance of life when she cocked her head to the side and feigned confusion. 'oh, that's interesting. You didn't think so when You were sleeping with me.'

"I knew it! So you are My girlfriend! Or wife."

'no, i'm not either of those things.'

"Okay, I'm officially confused," I admitted boredly.

'i don't even know where to begin to help You remember.'

actually, I didn't either. there was only one logical way. "Do you have names? Photos?"

she shook her head. 'no photos. i have names though. do You remember anthony? richard? lew moxon? my friend amy? Your friend chris?'

"You mentioned chris before.'

'yes. he's black, wears two diamond studs. and he's a few years younger than You.' she paused. 'he saved Your life.'

I remembered nothing about chris. I felt nothing about her last statement. "how?"

'well, up until a few days ago, he was also in the hospital. he had surgery for bullet wounds. when they put him in the ambulance, he didn't stop resisting them until they listened to him. he told them You were still at the tonnelly treatment plant - that's where they found You. when they did, You were already submerged in the sludge pit. after a while i learned that the only reason they were able to find You was because there was blood on the surface of the sludge. otherwise they never would have in time. they also told me that the only reason You didn't drown was because there was cloth wrapped around Your head. otherwise, You would have breathed that stuff in.'

she reached out and touched My skin with warm fingertips. I glanced down. My skin was very white against hers. 'Your skin discoloration is a result of the chemicals in the sludge. years ago, the plant had sealed up their pits - there are three - but not according to city and state regulations. they found out too late, when people in a three-mile radius started contracting all kinds of cancers and illnesses. another crew was assigned to close it up properly, but they started getting sick too. so, that work was never completed. it was, and still is, an open sore in gotham city, just like the narrows, or arkham asylum, or blackgate penitentiary. well, at least that last one is on an island.

'anyway, because of tonnelly plant, the nearby tonnelly acres was poisoned. people started calling it toxic acres. it's just a ghost town now. no one wants the land and the city owns it. stuff grows there and everything, the farms never suffered because of tonnelly, but there was something in the food and water supplies that caused people to get cancer. and not just that. things like blood poisoning, kidney failure, liver failure, brain damage in babies, stunted growth, miscarriages, infertility. it was a nightmare for those people. this is going back about twenty-five years. i was just a kid.'

I let the silence draw on for a few moments. I felt nothing. I didn't care. but wait a second. someone _had _thrown Me in there. what had I done to deserve it? "So you're saying I was... poisoned?"

she sighed and nodded. "I suppose You could come to that conclusion. but no one has ever fallen into the sludge before. everyone else just drank poisoned water or food grown on the land. chris told me they were trying to kill You and make You disappear.' she shook her head. 'no one would have found Your body for decades, if ever. he's the reason You're alive. and it's a miracle You are.'

_HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE __HA HA HA HO HO __HA HAHA HA __HA HEHE HA HA __HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE __HA HA HA HO HO __HA HAHA HA __HA HEHE HA HA_

_There's a great guy who can play the Joker that I remember from "The Crow II: City of Angels". His name is Vincent Perez and he plays the Crow in that movie. It's more like the Joker than anything else I can think of. His killings are motivated in a different way from the Joker, but he shows traces and flashes of his sick mind. It's a great movie. Unconventional and dramatic, very gothic and artistic. The first one is awesome too. The first guy who played the Crow could play the Joker too, but he was killed during filming. _


	69. talking

chapter 69 - talking

_that's quite a story_, I mused. what was her name again? damn it. Tina? Tara? Trisha? Tamara?

'Jack?'

"Huh?"

'does any of that shock You?'

"No. Why would it?" well it wasn't like I was emotionally connected. I couldn't remember anything.

'You could have died,' she said reluctantly.

"Well, I'm not exactly thrilled to be here." I tugged against My restraints. "I'm wondering if death might have been better."

she cast her eyes down and clutched at the compact powder. 'it's not the best alternative.'

_hello..._I raised My eyebrows. _what's this?_ "But it _is_ an alternative. For some people."

she waited a few moments before answering. she met My eyes evenly. 'yeah,' she breathed.

I noticed it. _boy,_ did I notice it. there it was. that look. fresh, haunted, naked, bleeding. if I could see it, it would have been a dark, violent purple-hued smoke billowing from her pores. and blood would have been dripping down her hands, down her fingertips, from the cuts on her wrists. it was the look of someone who had tried and failed. weakness. exploitable resource. she might be of some use yet.

I remembered. timing couldn't be better. Teresa. that was her name.

"Why don't you tell Me about... _us_?"

She frowned. That look withdrew into her eyes. Now she was just a person with a storming cloud over her head. 'there is no us.'

I rolled My eyes. still trying to save face. "Okay. Our past."

she looked down, a little embarrassed. color brushed her cheeks. 'there's nothing much to tell. we had a brief affair. You were eighteen.'

_brief? as in, didn't last all night long? as in, wasn't full of hot, lustful passion that was burning within us? as in, I wasn't enough to quench it? _"Don't tell Me it was brief because of My, uh, performance."

that drew a tiny smile. she looked up at Me. 'it was nothing like that.'

"Oh. Good. There's no point in being pretty if I can't back it up."

'it was brief because my husband found out and... well, there was a fight.'

she had stopped talking for several moments, disappearing into the memories of the incident. "And?"

she glanced at Me. 'well, i decided it was best if i ended it.'

I frowned. "Well, what about what I decided?"

'You never made a choice either way. it's like You didn't care. either that or You were just hiding what You really felt.'

I studied her face sincerely. she was looking down again at her hands, at the little plastic disk of make up. "I'm sure I cared."

she raised her head to see if I was serious. I was. but I wondered if she noticed anything else. 'how would You know? You don't remember anything.'

"That is true. you were saying before that there was a fight. How bad was it? Who was involved? How did it happen?"

'i don't want to talk about it.'

"Oh come on. I was there, remember? It's just that, _I_ don't remember. And it will help Me decide if I cared or not when you stopped the affair."

she leaned her head back and rubbed her eyes. 'it's like that wasn't even my life. it was ten years ago.'

she paused, and I waited patiently. things like this took time. baiting. persuasion.

'anyway, it sort of happened by coincidence. actually now that i think about it, i was very lucky that You showed up. my husband, he had been following me for some time, and that time i was going to church happened to be the time he decided to make his move. You and i had just had a fight and i'd left. You followed me to the church and we met up there. then before i knew it my husband was attacking You.' she met My eyes with her tired ones. 'he was trying to choke You.' then she looked down again. 'i never approved of it, but i was glad that day that You carried a switchblade.'

_switchblade, huh?_ "Interesting."

'what is?'

"Did I have to use My blade?"

she nodded. 'yes. You were covered in his blood.'

"Was I hurt?"

'yes. Your throat had bruising and a capillary in Your eye had burst from pressure. but You left the hospital before receiving treatment. that was my fault,' she added apologetically.

"Why was that your fault?"

'i was... i was very emotional and guilty about cheating on my husband. i yelled at You at the hospital. but You were just trying to protect me. You did. i shouldn't have treated You like that.'

_hmm. well, that settles it then_. "Well, that settles it then."

'what do You mean?'

"I must have cared. I obviously had feelings for you. I put Myself in harm's way."

'on more than one occasion.'

"Really? What was the other time?"

'seven years after that. You were... twenty-six. i was in the final stages of my divorce. there was just one thing left to do. go to the bank and empty out the safe deposit box. i asked You to come with me to my ex-husband's and my old house. i went in alone. and... at first he was calm. but very sad. he started begging me to stay. the whole place was a mess. he was a mess. he started crying. i didn't want to stay. i didn't want to get drawn in again like so many times before. so i started to leave. but he tried to stop me. then i got scared, and started to run.' she sighed shakily and closed her eyes. this had only happened two years ago. the memory was still fresh in her mind.

"Hey," I said softly. "Open your eyes. You're safe."

she obeyed, and her eyes glistened with tears. 'well, i ran into the kitchen and tried to get a knife to defend myself. he wrestled it out of my hands and held me against the wall.' she swallowed. '...i still have nightmares about it. and in my dreams You never come to save me. i just die. he kills me.'

"But in reality I saved you?"

she bent her head forward and wiped her eyes. 'yes. You saved my life.'

"So what happened to him?"

'You killed him in self-defence.'

so. I was a murderer. well, it wasn't so surprising after all. no one blamed Me for it, I was sure. it was in self-defence, right? "Do you blame Me for it?"

she had an answer ready. obviously she had thought about it quite a lot. 'at first i did. but...i shouldn't have, i realized that later. You were trying to save Me. but then You were trying to save Yourself. even I took up a weapon against him. how can I blame You for what happened? and now, You don't even remember anything. do You?'

"No, I can't say that I do. Are you sure you can't remove just one of these restraints?" I tugged at both of them and arched My back. lying like this was uncomfortable. I couldn't even sit up because of the strap across My chest.

'i can't. they told me not to.'

"you always do what you're told?"

she shrugged. 'i don't fight anymore.'

"Doesn't that bother you?"

'no.'

"So the fight's gone from you?"

'yes.'

I observed her calmness. now was a good time to ask. "When did you try to commit suicide?"

'one year ago,' she replied without hesitation.

"Why did you fail?"

'my friend took me to the emergency room.'

"Are you glad she did?"

'i don't know how to feel about it.'

"Hmm."

we sat in silence for a few moments. both of us stared into space, thinking about different things. then I looked at her. "Tell Me, Teresa. Do you love Me?"

she blinked and turned her head to My face. 'no.'

i nodded seriously, acceptingly. "Good. Then, uh, all this would be much more painful for you. Don't you agree?"

'yes.'


	70. surgery

_Hey guys, it's pretty hard to edit these chapters. Here are some things you should know. The Joker capitalizes any reference to himself. If it's not capitalized, that's my mistake, assume that it is. He never capitalizes another's name, even if the name is at the beginning of a sentence. He uses double quotation marks only for himself, taking time only to capitalize sentences he starts in dialogues. He uses single quotations for other people's dialogues. Everything is obviously from his point of view, but Italics are thoughts within the situation, or for emphasis. I think that's about it. This chapter was hard to write, because I know there is not one human being that's resistant to EVERY medication. I'm sure this would throw a surgery room into total disarray. It's against all medical doctrine as they know it. Not really sure about operating procedures, I just winged it. _

_HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 70 - surgery

well, she wasn't in love with Me. she was telling the truth. someone whose aura emits such misery obviously can't hide her emotions. and she looked Me dead in the eye when she said it. 'no.' simple, no hesitation. maybe if our affair had continued, her answer might be different.

no, it_ would_ be different. it would be yes. she would be in love.

desperately. hopelessly.

she had that potential. a husband who tried to kill her? abuse was undoubtedly involved. any woman with such a husband was easily manipulated. 'i didn't want to get drawn in again like so many times before.' she had admitted it herself. she just didn't know it.

less than an hour awake and already I was restless. I had to get out of this place. "teresa."

she turned to Me.

"Is there any way you can help Me get out of this place?"

'You haven't even been awake for thirty minutes. i'm sure they wouldn't just let You out.'

I nodded. "Did you know they gave Me a sedative?"

her eyes widened in suprise. 'they did?'

"Yes. It didn't work."

'but that's impossible. unless that particular sedative was ineffective. they didn't try to give You anymore?'

"No. I stopped struggling." I glanced around. "They're still monitoring Me. I wish I could just sit up. Could you find out from a nurse?" I paused, almost choking on the word. "Please?"

'sure. maybe they'll at least remove that.'

she left the hospital room, dropping her compact powder in her purse as she went. I wondered if there was anything in her purse that I could use. the mirror was definitely something I could use. but now she had put it away. I had to get her to take it out again.

when she returned, she was trailed by a heavy-set nurse in pink scrubs. the nurse studied My face. she sighed and shook her head. 'this is the fifth time You've torn through the stitches.'

I frowned. "How did I do that before?"

'You were unconscious. we thought the sedatives wore off, but now we know they probably never worked. You must have done it while You were in Your coma. You often fought the respirator. do You remember any of this?'

I shook My head after a moment. "No."

she leaned forward and unclipped a strap that went across My chest. she helped Me sit up and I sighed and slumped forward, hanging My head. that felt much better. I glanced down at My legs, which were covered with a sheet. My feet were pale and bare and stuck out at the bottom. a clear catheter curved across the bed and over the right edge.

"So, uh, what happens to Me now?"

the nurse checked some iv tubes that ran into My arms. 'speech and cognitive tests. transfer to recovery. i'll bet these are useless.'

"What are those?"

'sedatives. morphine. are You feeling pain?'

a gentle ache was all that was present. "Let Me see." without another moment of pause, I stretched My mouth in a wide yawn. 'no!' the nurse cried out, her eyes widened. teresa jumped back. I felt the stitches pop and unravel as they tore through My jagged cuts. blood spilled onto My tongue and out onto My jaw. I felt it run down My chin and down My neck. "Uunnhhh," I moaned. Red droplets splashed onto the sheet. "Uh, feelin' pain," I croaked and swallowed blood.

the nurse ran out and teresa stood there, a hand clamped over her mouth as though _hers_ was the one which had just been ripped open.

a small group of nurses came rushing in and teresa stood far away as they wrapped My head with bandages to stem the bleeding. 'now You need surgery!' the first nurse scolded Me. her face was red. 'we don't even know if an anesthetic is going to work.'

"I can stitch it up Myself," I mumbled through the white gauze before I even realized what I was saying. _I can?_ was I just imagining it or did I really know how to do that? and I felt as though I was a pro at it. like I was so used to it I could do it blindfolded. well, even if I could do it, it wasn't like they were going to let Me within twenty feet of a medical needle.

so, within the hour, I was wheeled into a small operating room. the room smelled of iodine and chlorine. I didn't think it was possible but this room was even brighter than the hospital room. damn it even the sun wasn't this bright. they couldn't try general anesthesia, because I had been receiving a feeding-tube. so they tried a local anesthetic, and took a risk combining it with other medications. each time we just sat around twiddling our thumbs - well, except for Me, since I was still strapped down - staring at each other's faces. "Yeah, this isn't workin' boys," I said, muffled by the bandages. they finally tried novocaine, which also didn't work.

'fuck me,' the anesthesiologist muttered to himself, stressed and stumped by the situation. "I'd rather not, if you don't mind," I replied back conversationally. he glared at Me as though just remembering I was there. then he looked at the surgeon. 'it's your call, dean.'

dean shook his head. 'let's go have a private chat.'

as they walked out I turned My head up at the doorway. "Hey, mind if I join you?"

dean jerked a finger at a nurse and she stayed in the room with Me. she just stood in a corner and stared at Me. her lips and hair were covered with a mask and haircap. I looked away. maybe they wouldn't let Me within twenty feet of a needle, but they _would _let Me come within two feet of a pair of medical scissors. too bad this nurse was in here. but before I could think of a way to get out of this room, the doctors returned and the surgeon pulled his mask down. he sighed before speaking and said, 'we have to perform the surgery without medication. we have no choice.'

I shrugged. "I can take it."

'all right then. just raise Your right hand if You want me to pause at any point. we're going to steady Your head.' after a while, they virtually clamped My head in place. it was an unpleasant feeling, like being held under a foot of water, just so you can see beyond the surface. they tossed a sheet over Me, taped it in place, and cut through the bandages.

I felt a cold swab of cloth over My whole mouth. at first nothing but a cool sensation. then _fire_. the iodine hurt more than the surgery itself. I involuntarily relented a scream of pain and I heard someone mutter, 'oh shit.'

I flapped My right hand violently, but the damage was already done. the iodine burned without mercy. I groaned. "What the hell are you doin' to Me?"

'don't talk. the worst is over.'

he was right about that. I barely felt the stitching compared to the iodine. I wasn't sure how long it took, but each time he stuck Me with the needle I flinched. he continually begged Me to try to control the reflex. when he stopped, I heard him say, 'i'm not going to use the iodine. that's it. enough.'

when it was over the whole room breathed an audible sigh of relief. when they removed the sheet all of their eyes were wide and ghastly. their skin was pale and sweaty. none of them had ever been in a surgery where the patient was_ awake _and screaming_. _that was just the same as torture and they were the inflictors of pain. they removed the clamp around My head and tightly bandaged My jaw, wrapping gauze all around My head.

the surgeon patted My shoulder. 'You did well.' he wiped his forehead.

"you didn't," I accused him. I couldn't talk properly because of the bandages. I don't think he understood Me.


	71. late night reduction

chapter 71 late night reduction

teresa was waiting outside, and I wiggled My eyebrows as her as they wheeled Me past, back into My room. she was quick to follow, and soon we were alone. 'can You talk?' she asked.

"'Ngot eally," I replied through the bandages.

'okay.' she touched My shoulder. there was a strange look on her face. she stared into My eyes, her thoughts working furiously in her mind.

"At ah oo tinkin'?" I was trying to ask what she was thinking.

she frowned slightly and shook her head. 'i don't know what you're saying.'

I walked her through what I had just said, word by word, like she was really slow in the head, but that didn't work either. finally, she turned away and pulled out a notepad and pen from her purse. she helped Me sit up in bed and loosened the strap on My right arm so I had a little play with the nylon belt. with shaking fingers from so little use in the past month, I scrawled out, _what are u thinking_

'oh,' she said. after all that, she said, 'nothing.'

I rolled My eyes. then I wrote, _show Me that mirror_

she left the notepad and pen in My possession for a moment and brought over her compact powder again. she handed Me the make up and I opened it up with a snap, and looked at My face.

locks of greasy, dirty blond hair fell over My forehead, sticking out from the under the bandages around My head. small dots of blood formed a disjointed smile on the bandages that covered My mouth. My eyes were sunken in, the appearance intensified by dark gray circles around My sockets. My temples were clearly visible indentations on the sides of My heads, the angles of My bones protruded out, sharp and painful. I looked like a parched skull with eyeballs. turning My head to the right, I noticed that on the left side, part of My hair was shaved off, and under about a half-an-inch of hair were several black stitches. I put the mirror down and scrawled, _what happened to My head_

'You don't want to know,' she said darkly.

"C'mon," I said impatiently. I looked at My face again and arched My eyebrows. I felt fine, but I looked sickly. I didn't belong in the hospital just because of the way I looked. I felt ready to get up and walk out. I looked at her and said, "Ell?"

'all right fine. someone hit You with a crowbar.'

"Hmm," I remarked. I looked at My face again. so, did I have brain damage? didn't seem likely. My, uh, cognitive abilities seemed normal. fine motor skills? I could write, so ...check! I wiggled My toes. I had control of My extremities. My vision was normal.

'that's it?'

"Huh?"

'i just told You someone hit You with a crowbar. don't You have any reaction?'

I shrugged and wrote, _I don't remember_

'so what?' she demanded when I was done writing. she tugged the restraint back to it's original position. she took the mirror off My lap and snatched the pen out of My hand - "Hey!" - even at My protest. then she took all her things and put them back in her purse. 'the least You could do is have a reaction,' she admonished. 'shock, horror, amazement, disbelief. _some_thing! i'm going to try to find stuff to help You remember, okay? visiting hours are already over, they were just nice enough to let me wait until Your surgery was over. don't tear those stitches again. i can't believe You did that in the first place.' she stormed out after she was done talking.

yeah, she thought I was crazy. now I recognized that look she had first given Me. and, she had restrained Me fully again. she didn't trust Me. I settled back down into My bed. that was okay if she didn't trust Me. no one else did, why should she be any different? the truth was becoming more apparent now. I was a different person. I wasn't jack.

_jack's dead, teresa_, I thought.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA _

ever lain awake for hours on end? add about another _hundred _hours, endless beeping, late night television, and the smell of sterility. then, if you're imaginative enough, you'll understand what one night is like strapped to a hospital bed with nothing to do. sometimes the nurses stuck around to chat, tried other meds, and then left, citing other patients as an excuse.

I couldn't sleep. not even for a few minutes. I didn't have the desire to close My eyelids. I was so shifty, and the longer I tried to lie still the more I fidgeted. I didn't know what time it was, but eventually I threw My head back and growled with frustration. My voice was muffled by the bandages. I started to writhe and tug violently at the straps. My heart raced from the sudden extertion and the bed shook. the monitors in the room started beeping at My increased heart-rate and in moments a nurse came rushing in. "Let Me out," I commanded through the gauze over My mouth.

'first i need You to relax,' she said, striving for a calm voice that ended up slipping out a little bit shaky.

panting, I slowly repeated Myself. "Let. Me. Out."

'You need to heal. You're not ready to leave the hospital.'

"_Uurrgghh_!" I turned away from her, disgusted and frustrated, and started to yank on the restraints again. stupid useless pathetic nurses never do what I want them to always telling Me no no no no I always _hated _hospitals Im sure I did and one day Im going to blow this place to hell theyre not going to know _what _hit em... they wont be able to do _any_thing about it, nothing nothing _nothing_--

_--pop!_

and I screamed in abrupt pain. I stopped moving and shrank down, sharp, agonizing pains shooting up and down My left shoulder. I shut My eyes and drew a shaky breath, exhaled. I had dislocated My shoulder. I felt hot and cold, hot and cold. I lay there, frozen, trying not to jar the pain again. My breath was shallow and labored and two female nurses and one male nurse ran into the room.

'oh no.'

they immediately loosened the restraints holding Me captive and I moaned in pain. the male nurse demanded, 'why isn't He on any meds?'

'they don't work on Him,' one of the ladies replied wearily.

'you've gotta be kidding me.'

the restraints were still around My wrists, but they were loosened completely.

'we can't do this without medication.'

'let me get His nurse practitioner. she's around here somewhere. you should get Him to x-ray.'

'right.'

within a remarkably short time - probably because it was the middle of the night - they had My x-rays and the nurse practitioner was already present. I had been taken back to My room, and stripped of My hospital gown. I was naked under the sheet, My skin a grayish white. the nurse practioner came in with the x-rays. 'okay. we're going to have to do this without medication. we can try shots of novocaine locally because we know anesthesia doesn't work on You.'

'actually novocaine doesn't work either,' one of the nurses replied quietly.

'well, we'll just try several shots of it. it may be that He's just highly resistant.'

so they tried. two shots, three, five, seven, eight... not one tingle of numbness. this was going to _hurt_.

'we have to reduce it without medication. i don't want to keep administering novocaine.' the nurse practitioner looked at Me. 'are You _absolutely _sure it's not working?'

I nodded.

she shook her head and gestured to the male nurse. 'you have to hold Him around the chest.' she went around and pulled My right arm down and tied the restraint tightly.

the man nodded and gripped Me from behind, locking his arms in front of Me. the other two nurses were told to restrain My ankles and hold them as tightly as possible. I glanced at the nurse practitioner, who sighed and muttered, 'brace Yourself.'

she glanced at the x-ray once and with gloved hands, gingerly touched My shoulder. all of them had their eyes on My face, worried. I shut My eyes and... well, braced Myself. suddenly and swiftly, she twisted My arm back and manipulated the shoulder back into the socket, working through My howls of pain. when she let go, a nervous moan mixed with a giggle passed My lips, My bandages growing warm with the exhalation. the room breathed a sigh exactly like the operating room had. the nurse practitioner leaned forward and sighed. all of them let Me go simultaneously.

they left the room momentarily and returned with supplies to put My arm in a sling. before leaving, the nurse practitioner pleaded, 'for goodness' _sake_, don't hurt Yourself again.'

"Does that mean you'll let Me out now?"

she looked pointedly at Me and shook her head. 'no.'

what a surprise.

you would think that sleep was inevitable now. you would also be wrong. I never slept.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA _

_I'm not sure if it's possible to dislocate a shoulder simply by pulling hard enough on it, I guess it probably must be. Most shoulder dislocations are sustained from a hard fall. Very rarely, seizures cause shoulder dislocation, I imagine if a person is tied down or whatever and they have a seizure. Basically, enough force should do it. Yeah, they can use Novocaine for such an injury as a local anesthesia. I don't like this chapter much, it's kind of draining to write from this guy's point of view. Next chapter, Teresa is going to bring some things to help Jack, um, not-Jack, remember. I'm not saying what it is, have fun guessing. I don't think it would be too hard to figure out though. _


	72. the shrink

_I can't believe I have over 400 reviews!!! Thank you so much!!! Whoa, I looked at the number and I can't believe that's the amount of reviews I have. I love hearing from you guys! I'm so glad you think my story is worth reading, and not to mention, sticking with for this long! _

_Lengthy chapter this time. Enjoy!_

_Oh, I know I said Teresa was going to be in this chapter, but I had to add this stuff in first. I'm finding it a little difficult to put everything in the chronological order that I want._

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA _

chapter 72 - the shrink

I had to get out. I had no patience. I needed to see color. I needed to feel the breeze blow My hair back. I needed to be blinded by the sun. I needed to see reds and greens and yellows and blues and purples and gold and silver and black. colors! had this hospital ever heard of colors?

why couldn't I sleep? I don't remember ever having craved it so much. how could it elude Me this way? tossing and turning didn't exhaust Me.

I wasn't more tired from not sleeping. it was working the wrong way. I was more awake than ever, twitching and jittery. My shoulder ached with inflammation. these people couldn't do anything for Me. without medication they were useless. I had to deal with any aches and pains with My own tolerance.

at least-at _least_, something good had come through the dislocation.

My left arm was _free_.

early in the morning, the nurses came in to do their rounds of cleaning and checking up on patients. in order to feed My breakfast they cut My bandages away and fed Me. I had no appetite anyway, and the smell of scrambled eggs and pancakes did nothing for Me. after a few bites I couldn't eat anymore. My whole jaw ached from the previous day's surgery.

a while later, the same doctor I had seen in My first moments awake came inside. I felt a surge of hatred for him as he came over, smiling like nothing was wrong. he asked Me a few stupid questions.

'do You know where You are?'

I frowned in disdain. I made no reply.

'do You know Your name?'

I glared at him, and he didn't seem at all worried. in fact, he acted like this was perfectly normal. like people usually gave him blinding looks that desired his painful death.

'what year is it?'

silence.

'what's today's date?'

I closed My eyes. this wasn't happening. it couldn't be. not to Me.

the doctor just gave up after a couple of more questions and left the room after a word with the nurse. she nodded and glanced at Me, then left the room too.

I was alone. the room was brightly lit. I was never going to get any sleep if it was so bright in here. also, any movements could be seen easily. I had noticed a camera last night in the corner of the room. it was there for nurses to monitor patients from the nurses' station. so I called her back in and asked her to turn off the lights so I could rest.

she drew the blinds before leaving. now the room was darkened. without sitting up, I leaned to the right, and with My left hand, working My pale, slender fingers, deftly undid the restraint. from the camera, or even at a quick glance, it would look like it was still in place. but I could easily flick My hand free with one movement. now I just had to wait for the right time.

some restless hours later, a woman in a business suit covered with a white doctor's coat walked in. she wore black rimmed glasses and had glossy, shoulder length, black hair. she was carrying a folder. I rolled My eyes curiously towards her, questioning her presence. she pulled a chair over, but didn't sit down. instead, she smiled slightly and nodded in a business-like manner. 'hello, jack. i'm dr natalie owens. i'm one of the hospital psychiatrists.'

"How nice for you," I muttered sarcastically as I turned My head away.

she smoothed down the coat over her butt and sat down, crossing her legs. 'i understand You have been having some problems adjusting to Your situation. granted, i'm sure it must be very difficult to cope.'

"you don't know the half of it."

'would You care to talk about it a little bit? perhaps we can make Your stay here more comfortable.'

I turned My head back to face her. Then I frowned at the ceiling thoughtfully. "No, I don't think that's possible," I replied, mocking her manner and professional tone-of-voice. "As a matter of fact, I don't have any inclination to believe such a thing is even likely."

'oh? why is that?'

"I, uh, _really, _don't have anything else to say to you."

'well,' she started and opened the folder. 'in that case, i'll do what i have to do as part of hospital procedure and leave You alone. is that good for You?'

"It would be _perfect_ for Me if you just leave right now."

she gave a small chuckle. 'i'm sorry, jack, but i can't do that. otherwise i'd be considered neglectful of my duties.'

jack, jack, jack. I wished I could tell her to stop calling Me that, but that would just give her what she wanted. a little knowledge about Me. no, I couldn't have that. I was My own secret weapon. she was sitting inches away from My right hand, and she had no idea I was already free.

she pulled out several laminated cards on a spiral of metal, and placed them face down on her lap. 'would You mind if i turned the lights on?'

"Yes."

'can You see well enough, then?'

I detected no trace of impatience. I however, was getting more and more irritated. "_Yes_." I hissed through My teeth. "Get on with it."

My annoyance didn't slip past her. she was a psychiatrist, after all. she shifted slightly in her chair. she was starting to get uncomfortable with Me. 'this will only take a few more minutes. i would just like You to name the pictures i'm showing You. okay?'

I glanced at the cards on her lap and she turned them towards Me. 'just name them.'

_dog. cat. chair. door. table. car. What the hell is the point of this?! _

My voice grew shaky with frustration, with irritation.

_violin. motorbike. _

_okay calm down_. I took a deep breath and let it out. as she turned over the card for the motorbike, I saw the figure of a person on the next card. I saw crazy shoes and polka dotted legs and--I looked at her face. she nodded expectantly. "That's a clown," I replied, almost in awe.

she smiled. 'good.' she started to turn to the next picture. "Wait."

That was a closest I had ever come to remembering anything. I stared and stared at the clown's picture, studying the outline of a smile, the wild, puffy hair and ears that stuck out comically. all of these pictures had no colors, they were merely outlines. whoever heard of a colorless clown? the least they could have done was taken a red marker and colored the poor guy's nose. even sad white clowns had colors. sure, they were mostly white, but they had blacks and blues and sometimes a touch of yellow or red.

I studied it now, wishing that the lights were on so I could get a better look. I waited for recognition, for recollection, for a jolt of familiarity just like the first time I laid eyes on the pathetic picture. I felt nothing beyond My first reaction.

'is something wrong?'

then I remembered she was sitting there. for the first time I felt a little sad. "No," I replied, My voice unavoidably glum.

'do You remember something?'

the sadness disappeared as quickly as it had risen. "Let's go to the next picture."

'if You like we can--'

"I told you I have nothing to say to you." I reminded harshly. "Just finish this stupid test and leave Me alone."

'all right.' she replied after a moment of thought. the rest of the pictures went by quickly, probably because I was still thinking about that clown. apparently she was too, because she made no further attempts to draw some words out of Me. she put a card down next to My pillow and said, 'my extention is on there. if you would like to chat, please tell one of the nurses to page me. i'll be here as soon as i can.'

I pulled My head back and looked at the card like it was a stick insect twitching on My pillow. when she left, I leaned to the right again and redid the restraint. she was coming back, I was sure. her eyes had lit up at My reaction, it was a clue, a string to pull at, to unravel My secrets.

since My curiosity was also aroused, I decided it was best if I didn't leave the hospital just now.

while I waited for her return, I also waited for teresa. but she never showed. maybe she was still mad. how could I feel anything about something I couldn't remember? it was like asking for Me to feel something for a starving child in another country. one commercial wasn't going to get Me to rake over My hard-earned money... well. hard-earned, I wasn't so sure about that. I had been cracked over the head with a crowbar and had My mouth sliced open. obviously I hadn't been involved in the most noble line of work.

and why the clown? of all those pictures, the clown drew that reaction out of Me. I wish it hadn't, but how can you get punched in the gut and not show it? teresa hadn't ever indicated that I had been connected to a circus or anything. in fact, I had probably got on the wrong side of a powerful crime lord. he had the ability to make Me disappear. he had known no one would search for Me. he had picked out the perfect place to dispose of My body. teresa was right, if it hadn't been for that guy called chris, I wouldn't be here.

I should have asked her more questions about My life.

when My hospital door opened about two or three hours later, it was the psychiatrist. what was her name? natasha? I glanced at the card sideways. oh yeah, natalie owens. she smiled at Me.

"Hello, _doc_."

'hi, jack. may i turn the light on?'

she had a folder in her hand. "Yes," I gave her My permission. she flicked it on and walked over, and undid the restraint on My right hand. I smiled slightly, My mouth aching. I had judged correctly. she lowered the side of the bed, the part that protected Me from rolling off, like I was some baby in a crib. then she helped Me sit up. the catheter was cold against My leg.

'i printed up several pictures that might interest You.'

I raised My eyebrows and looked curiously at the beige folder. she put it on My lap and adjusted My blanket. 'i'm sure You weren't expecting Yourself to react that way when I showed You the clown. so i printed up as many clown pictures as I could find, to help jog Your memory, if possible.'

with My right hand, which was free of the restraint, I opened the folder. I held My left arm, which was in a sling, close to My body. the first picture was so full of colors it shocked My retina. I blinked. I chuckled. "I was starting to wonder if colors existed or not."

'yes, i always thought these hospital rooms were dull. but most patients in ICU are usually in an induced coma. You're the only patient awake in ICU.'

there were all kinds of clowns. all kinds of colors, gaudy, bright and offensively colorful. there were sad clowns, happy ones, maniacally joyful ones, fat ones, thin ones, ones on a little bicycle, so many different clowns. there were also jesters, and harlequin dolls and just ordinary people with crappy clown make up, children in clown costumes, grumpy party clowns getting pies in the face.

some of them were photographs of ornate Fool cards from a tarot deck, others were old designs of playing card jokers. there was a joker card that was a naked lady with a jester hat, another one with a man in a jester suit, fingers splayed at the sides of his grinning face. there was another one that particularly caught My eye for no apparent reason except for the fact that it looked like an ample-bosomed, naked girl under messy sheets. she was looking over her bare shoulder, smiling fondly, and the caption said, 'chad, sweet chad.'

I wasn't sure why this was with the other pictures, but it must have just shown up along with the other pictures when the psychiatrist had searched for clowns. her lipstick was smeared to the side like a clown's smile.

the psychiatrist noticed My attention to this particular picture, and she said, 'what do You think of that one?'

without looking at her, I shrugged easily with My right shoulder. "I was just wondering why this was here."

'oh.' she sounded disappointed. 'well, i just added in anything that had a tiniest connection to clowns.'

"I thought as much."

'has this been of any help to You so far?'

I flipped to the next picture. "Not...really." the next picture was of a scary clown. the first one in the bunch. it was a... well, it was _it_. it was apparently a book by stephen king and although the clown didn't look so terrifying--"Man, someone get some hand lotion for that guy!" I exclaimed.

the shrink gave a tinkle of genuine laughter. 'You should read it some time, it's quite terrifying.'

I waved My right hand. "Oh please! I'm scarier than _that_." I looked at her. "Don't you think so?"

she didn't react right away. her job was to reflect back My thoughts, at best, in a different light. but right now I had put her on the spot and her delay already meant she had given away something. you can tell a lot from silence. it's a lot easier than listening to someone talk. not to mention most people don't have anything _worth _listening to...

her eyes went to My cuts, unabashedly studying them. then she looked into My eyes sternly. 'it depends on whether You're a victim or not.'

"Oooh," I crooned. I gave a deep-throated chuckle. "Is that, uh, just another way of saying that you don't trust Me?"

'well, i never said that,' she replied easily, almost indifferent. she had trained well for her profession. I suspected that working at this hospital wasn't her first job.

"Yes, you're right," I conceded. "So, hypothetically, if I'm not a victim, what am I?"

she summed Me up with her eyes and then gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. 'judging by the fact that i have no records of family history, likes, dislikes, psychological patterns, genetic diseases, or addictions, i think i can safely assess that You're a product.'

_A product?_ I tsked. "And I was just starting to like you."

'well, my opinion is bound to change. i have practically nothing to base a diagnosis on.'

I flipped to the next picture. _a one-eyed head of a monstrous clown with sharp, pointy teeth. _"Have you ever treated anyone with coulrophobia?" _more clowns with pointy teeth bared to take a great big bite out of one someone's face. another clown with blood dripping from it's yellow fangs. _

'no, i haven't had the liberty.'

"Does trauma with clowns cause that fear?"

'sometimes. if that trauma isn't dealt with right away. psychological problems infect and fester just like a physical injury if untreated. the only difference is that psychological problems are not apparent on the body.'

I turned the page. "Don't I know it." This picture was actually nine pictures - stacked like a tictactoe board - of men wearing grotesque masks. most of them had long hair. one of them had a red nose, and bandages like a mummy that were smeared with blood, and on top was his exposed brain matter. another had a sickly-green, pulpy mask - like decaying skin - stringy black hair and sutures over his mouth. one of them had a kabuki mask, elegant and haunting in it's appearance. one looked the grim reaper under his hood. all of them didn't look like clowns, but their masks were amusing.

there were some more pictures of scary clowns, and then following that was something quite strange. it was an almost completely naked girl with clown make-up and shiny black straps over her body in place of clothing. there were more of women posed provocatively in all arrays of clown make-up and attire. there were also pictures of men dressed in clown suits, with girls in their bras and panties draped over them. "Tell Me, doc, do you have a clown fetish?"

she laughed. "i can't say that i do."

"Do you think I do?"

'i don't know.'

"Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?" I studied her intently.

'not really. it's an important part of psychology.'

"Hmm." I flipped through the clown fetish pictures again.

'do You feel anything for those pictures, jack?'

"Could you do Me a favor?"

she looked taken aback for a moment. 'what is it?'

"Can you bring Me a deck of cards? I get so bored here."

'oh. of course.' she paused. 'You didn't answer my question.'

"Yeah I know. I, uh, don't feel like it." I closed the folder and handed it back to her. she waited a moment before taking it back. 'You don't feel like answering my question?'

"Nope."

'okay then. I wouldn't want You to talk about something that makes You uncomfortable.'

I lowered My head and stared her from under hooded eyes. "Watch it. I said I didn't _feel _like it."

she looked flustered for the first time. 'i didn't mean it that way.'

I dangled My right hand in front of her. "Don't forget to replace My shackles."

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA _

_I really hope there aren't any typos. If you see any please tell me right away. I have to go to work, so I don't have time to proof-read. Oh yeah, the first pic I went into detail about was of Drew Barrymore from Charlie's Angels, "Chad, sweet Chad," and the other one, the group of nine photos of men with masks, that's none other than the band Slipknot. I searched clown-related stuff in Google Images so I could get an idea of a bunch of photos the psychiatrist would have printed out. _


	73. late night visitor

chapter 73 - late night visitor

and what are you lookin' at?

she's not My _friend_. I couldn't let her feel like she'd learned something about Me. after My initial slip, signifying that clowns meant something to Me, she couldn't learn anymore. I had to be more careful.

uh, so why the hell _do _clowns affect Me this way? they didn't scare Me. they didn't turn Me on. well, that naked one with the fetish kind of did... but why _clowns_?

I couldn't remember having anything to do with them. ...actually I couldn't remember anything.

this was pointless! I needed to learn more about My past to figure out why I felt anything at all about clowns. I didn't know what I was feeling. it wasn't a memory, because I couldn't recall any details, but it certainly did feel like one.

a few hours after she had left, I was still lying there, staring at the ceiling waiting for sleep. mostly My thoughts were preoccupied with thinking about clowns and anything related, but I wasn't able to open up any memories. night had fallen already and the whole room was quite dark, except for the shaft of light that fell in through a window in the hospital door.

then, since My thoughts had drifted to My surroundings, and purely out of curiosity, I lifted up My hospital shirt and looked down, under the sheet. yeah, that didn't look good. a thin tube was jammed right up into My penis. that thing had to come out. this place was worse than a medieval dungeon full of torture devices! a tube shoved up a man's innocent penis (My penis _was_ innocent, right?), now _really!_ is that really necessary?

I licked My lips thoughtfully, then sat up. I undid the restraint on My right hand again, and pushed the sheet off.

My thin legs matched My skinny arms and body. they were pale and almost colorless, covered in thin, curly brown hairs. I wriggled My toes. everything was working fine. well, I wasn't sure about a certain _some_thing. these, uh, sensitive body parts had to be treated with care, otherwise who knows what serious damage could be caused. I reached down and moved the catheter. I hoped it didn't hurt when I pulled it out.

it was, at most, unpleasant. I saw My urine move inside the tube as I pushed it away from My pale body. okay, My equipment was still intact. I _would_ have sex again! victory, is Mine.

the psychiatrist had put up the plastic guard again when she had left, and turned off the lights too. leaning over it on the right, hanging My head until blood rushed to My brain, I spent a minute or so trying to lower the thing. I finally got it down, but wasn't ready for it, and almost fell head first onto the floor. but I caught Myself by grabbing the edge and pushed Myself shakily back upright.

My arms were so weak. if this was the case with those limbs, My legs had to be equally powerless. I swung them over the side easily enough, and let them dangle there for a while. I couldn't touch the floor at this point, so I just slid off the bed.

I held the side of the bed for support. at first I didn't need the support of the bed. what was I _thinking_? My legs were perfectly functional.

I took one step and immediately I just started leaning over to the right. there was nothing I could do. I couldn't even take another step quickly enough to right Myself, and I crashed to the floor, toppling over iv racks and sending the hospital food tray skidding on its wheels into the wall.

someone may have heard that. I lay there in the dimness, stunned for several moments. no one walked in, however.

seeing that I was in the clear again, I used every little bit of muscle strength I had left to push Myself up into a sitting position. I tried a few times to stand up again, but it didn't work. soon I was exhausted. panting slightly, I scooted towards the nearest thing that could help Me stand - the hospital food tray. it was already pushed right up against the wall, so it wouldn't slide away when I dragged Myself back to My feet.

once I reached it, I breathed a sigh. this was not easy. this was also unacceptable. I couldn't be disabled like this.

with an aching right arm, fingers outstretched, I reached up for the edge of the hospital tray. but I stopped when My door opened.

I wholly expected it to be a nurse coming in to drag Me back into bed, but it wasn't. it was a man in regular clothes.

I stared up at him from under the hospital food tray, curious. he stood there in the doorway, legs parted, jaw dropped. 'holy shit,' he mumbled after a few moments.

I narrowed My eyes and ducked lower slowly. I held My breath. this man wasn't hospital staff.

he reached into his front waistband, under his jacket and pulled out a silenced gun, a Glock 9mm. I did a double-take. _how do I know that? _

he took a couple of steps into the room without turning on the lights. 'shit,' I heard him mutter. 'shit, shit shit shit, _shit!_'

I was thinking along the same lines, because when he turned around, he would see Me. and I had nothing to defend Myself with. I sat there quietly, waiting for the moment when he would turn around.

both of us heard the footsteps at the same time. the man, before turning around, tucked the weapon back into his waistband. a nurse came into view and flooded the room with light. the man turned around and blinked at Me.

'there You are!' she exclaimed.

the man looked stunned, and issued a nervous giggle. 'jack, what are You doing down there?'

'oh, i'll be right back, i need to get some help. jack, hon, don't move.'

the nurse left as quickly as she had shown up.

I dropped My arm. crossing My legs, I pushed the fabric down over My groin with My right hand. underneath I was stark naked. I held My left arm close to My body and stared at him stonily. "So what, did he send you to kill Me?"

confusion clouded his features. 'they told me You didn't remember anything.'

"So?"

'so You _do _remember?'

"Oh, I remember," I replied, My voice icy and low.

the man looked a lot like Me, although he seemed a healthier version. he looked uneasy now. 'listen, jack--'

"What are you supposed to be, My brother? Is that how you got in?"

'--if You remember...oh. yeah, that's what i told 'em.'

"If I remember?"

'if You remember...well, we were just following orders.'

I cocked up an eyebrow. "So if I did the same thing to you, you wouldn't mind if I told you that I was just, following orders?"

'come on. You know how gallagher is. he's stubborn as fuck and he even told us that if we didn't do what he told us to do to You, he would assume that as a sign of guilt and conspiracy against him. we _had _to, otherwise--'

"Otherwise you'd be dead."

before he could answer, I heard several sets of footsteps drawing nearer on the white-tile floors. both of us stopped talking and a few nurses helped Me back into bed after lowered the mattress. the first nurse looked at Me. 'we're thinking of moving You to another room so You can move around more. for right now just be a little patient while we contact the doctor, okay?'

"I'd like a few minutes to talk to My, uh, _brother_," - I looked at him pointedly - "in private. Do you mind?"

'sure, no problem. take Your time.'

the nurses left the room, easing the door shut behind them.

the man shifted on his feet, looking like he wanted to run away. "So go ahead. Kill Me."

'what?' he looked startled.

"What's the matter?"

he made no reply, except that he swallowed nervously.

I put My pale fingers to My lips and looked at the ceiling. "Now what was that you were saying? Oh yeah, you were just, uh, following orders." I paused and dropped My fingers. "So go ahead," I dared him, chewing the inside of My aching mouth, the inside of My sutured gash. I tasted blood.

he started to back away out of the room.

I watched him like a lazy cat until he was almost at the door. "Tell gallagher I said hello." Then I paused. "Oh, wait. Tell him I said hello, right be_fore_ you killed Me. Okay?" I gave a slight smile, My mouth catching with pain to do so.

he stopped in his tracks momentarily, then knowing he could do nothing to Me at this point, spun around and left.


	74. ah, screw it I'm not naming this one

chapter 74 -ah, screw it I'm not naming this one, I have enough stuff to do...

so they moved Me to a new room. it took them a couple of hours, but it was done. this room had pink curtains and light green walls. it almost looked like a normal bedroom, except for gas taps at the head of the bed. not to mention it smelled like cleaning products. and a nurse's aide sat in the room with Me to help Me to the restroom if I needed to go.

when I waited for her to leave the bathroom, she said, 'i can't leave You by Yourself.'

I made a face. "You wanna hold My thing while I take a leak too?"

the next morning, I finally saw Teresa. but she was an ever bigger mess than when I had seen her earlier. she practically staggered into the room, like she hadn't slept at all for several days, like Me. her hair was dull and tied back, her eyes ringed with gray. she was just barely composed. when she sat down at the edge of My bed she took a deep breath and threw her arms around Me.

I reached My hand out reluctantly and patted her on the back. "Did you think you'd never find Me?"

she burst into jittery laughter and pulled away, wiping her eyes.

boy, she was a mess. what the hell had started this? I really wasn't in the mood for this type of crap, since I wasn't ready for it. I exhaled impatiently. "Okay, what happened?"

she took a shaky breath.

"Listen, if you can't talk without crying, I'm not interested in listening."

she squeezed her eyes shut. then she opened them and turned around to look at the nurse's aide. I followed her gaze. the lady had been sitting there for a long time, and during the night she had just napped. since all night I had been walking around, holding the walls for support, I could have easily climbed out of bed and strolled out of the hospital. well, except for the fact that My leg muscles didn't that well and the fact that My pale, bony butt was hanging out of the back of the hospital gown.

however, I could still take a few steps around the room, and that was definitely an improvement.

the lady raised her hands. 'i'll leave.'

"No, don't--" I started. she was already gone. "--Go." some people have all the luck. I rolled My eyes and looked at her. she wiped her face again with the tips of her fingers, sniffed, and said, 'okay, it was just a really horrible night.'

she didn't continue, and nodded and raised My eyebrows. "Care to, go into some more detail?"

she nodded and said, 'well, you remember how i told You about chris? well, i had gone over to his place early last night to see how he was doing, and maybe if...if he was interested in coming to visit You.' she stopped again. 'when i went there, the door was unlocked, but closed. he knew i was coming, so he usually gets the door. but this time i knocked so many times and waited for a long time. i was just going to leave and i wish i had, but i just went in.' her lip quivered.

"Stop it," I warned. "Don't cry. I know what happens next. He's dead."

as her face contorted in anguish, she nodded and buried her face in her hands. I just sat there, noncommitted, almost indifferent, propped up on My right elbow, picking at a thread on My left arm's sling.

after several moments, she finally regained control of herself and said thickly, 'he's not the only one who was killed. they all were.'

"Who else?" I asked, almost bored.

'his family,' she choked. 'they were just... just getting ready to eat dinner. the food was still warm.'

"So, you're glad you're alive, aren't you?"

'huh?' she asked, drawn out of her haze of tears. 'how could i even... how can i think of myself when i saw what they _did_. they killed children! they killed an old woman! that was chris' family. they didn't have to...do that.'

I closed My eyes and nodded. "Yeah they did."

for the first time she stopped looking so miserable and stared at Me incredulously. "How can You _say _that?"

"They can't leave witnesses. If they do, they shouldn't bother with the hit in the first place."

'i can't believe what i'm hearing,' she looked down at her hands. 'jack, don't You under_stand_ what i'm telling You?"

_jack. she called Me jack again. _I swallowed My irritation for the time-being. "I understand perfectly well what you're telling Me," I replied calmly. "And trust Me when I tell you, they did that because they couldn't leave any witnesses."

we didn't talk for a few minutes. she wasn't crying anymore. then she looked at Me. 'they told me Your brother came to visit You. in all the years we've known each other, You never said one word about having a brother.'

"Oh." I shrugged. "That guy was just there to kill Me."

she nodded tersely. 'i thought as much.'

I smiled as widely as I could without tearing My sutures. I didn't want to go through _that_ again. "Well, I'm still kickin'!"

she looked at Me, her eyes distrustful of Me for the first time. 'yeah.'

"Oh please, don't get _too _excited, you might have a stroke," I said flatly.

she shook her head. 'i'm sorry. it's just like i don't know You anymore."

"Well, you were supposed to get to work on that, remember? Did you find anything of Mine that could help Me?"

she frowned. 'oh yeah. well, all Your stuff was gone. I looked around in Your old room and chris had gotten rid of all of it.'

"Well, where did he put it?"

'well, he didn't get rid of it himself. he was in the hospital too. his cousin darryl did it. i have no idea where Your things are. all that exist now are...Your wallet, the clothes You were brought in with, and--well, that's it i suppose.'

I snickered. "you know, you're a really terrible liar? If you can't do it right, you shouldn't even bother."

'i'm not lying!' she denied immediately.

I nodded vigorously. "If you're going to lie, tell the lie like it's the truth. you really need some lessons. All these years you've been alive and you _still _stink at it. But, there may be time for Me to teach you later." I paused for effect and raised an eyebrow. "Now tell me, what else was left of My things?"

she shook her head, knowing she was caught. 'i kept it all this time because i didn't know where You were. i've had it ever since they concluded the investigation on My ex's murder. it's Your switchblade.'

she bent down to where she had tossed her bag and pulled it out. she held it tightly in her left hand. 'i really shouldn't have brought this in here, but i figured if they saw it, they would understand once i told them i brought it in so You could remember something.'

My eyes were temporarily glued to the small patch of metal that I could see. I needed that. I had survived one attempt. I wouldn't survive another without a weapon. and another would definitely happen if I remained in the hospital.

seeing the silent blade gave Me an idea.

I raised My head to her face, and leaned forward off My right elbow. as I invaded her personal space, she leaned away a little, not looking at Me. I think I was starting to frighten her, or at the very least, make her uncomfortable.

I knew how I must have looked. a wretched mess of white skin and red gashes sewn up with black sutures. that red was the only color on My face, bright and vivid, like a... well, like a clown's painted smile.

I had studied Myself in the mirror repeatedly. the cuts didn't bother Me at all. they were a part of Me, almost like My hand or My leg. there would be no point in hating them. since we were going to be together from now on, I figured, why not be friends? and besides, one day these cuts would heal, and the pain would be gone, but they would leave very prominent scars.

"Well?" I breathed quietly near her ear, My palm open. she didn't move to hand it over.

she glanced sideways at Me with bloodshot eyes, not meeting My intent gaze. finally she couldn't take it anymore and started to get up. but I was ready and gripped her right forearm hard enough to make her wince before her butt ever left the bed. I let her arm go, leaving a red handprint on her skin. then I slowly reached My pale hand up to her chin and turned her face towards Mine. her eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

"Does the way I look bother you?"

she made no reply either way. her eyes filled with tears and she tried to blink them away, but a drop of water rolled out of each hazel eye. she tugged her face away and wiped her face, yet again. she clutched the switchblade tightly in her hand.

I stroked her arm against the fine hairs on her arms. By the time I drew near to the crook of her elbow, she had goosebumps. "Didn't we sleep together once?"

she finally spoke, her voice hoarse from trying to keep from crying. 'i don't know You anymore.' she tried to rise to her feet again, but I clutched her arm again, even tighter than last time. 'ow!' she cried out. 'You're _hurting _me, stop it!'

"Pain is nothing new to you."

She dropped the blade on the bed next to her hand started clawing at My fingers. 'let me go!'

she was moving around too much, so I moved My left arm for the first time in a while. it moved fairly easily, although with a sharp ache, and bending it out of the sling, I snatched her to her feet and pressed her against the wall at the foot of bed. "you lied to Me," I said slowly.

'jack, stop it,' she pleaded. 'let me go.' _jack. AGAIN! _I held My anger at bay. that wasn't My name anymore. I wasn't jack anymore. she pushed at My chest, then started to shove at My arms. I was panting lightly from the toll all this was taking on My weak muscles.

tears streaming down her face, her bosom rising and falling rapidly, she cast a glance towards the door. it was closed, and the nurse's aide had left long ago. we were alone and there was no camera in this room. I had already checked while the aide was sleeping. no one would hear much of our conversation unless she screamed.

"you see, you lied to Me." I nodded seriously. "you told Me, the fight was gone from you." I gave a low chuckle. "you _think_, that you don't care about anything." I let her go for a moment so I could snatch up the switchblade. she stole the opportunity, just like I _knew _she would, to try to escape. she stumbled past Me towards the door, but I yanked on one of her arms and she came swerving back to Me. I slammed her against the wall this time, and she whimpered. "But if I was to do _some_thing, unpleasant"--I pressed the button in the glossy, ivory handle and the blade flashed into sight, she flinched violently at the noise--"I think you would care..._very_ much."

I was ready too. I was ready for it. I knew it was coming, she was _so _predictable! she sucked a breath of air, and before she was even done inhaling, I clapped a hand over her mouth. between My fingers I slid the blade into her mouth. she froze her head when I did, sobs wracking her body as she tried to stop shaking. in a lilting voice, I talked. "You're under the false impression that...there _is_ such a thing as rock bottom. And you think you've been there." I leaned in closer. "Let Me let you in on a little secret," I rumbled. Her eyes overflowed with tears as she gazed with terror into mine. "There's no, such, thing. There's only, a breaking point. And do you know what comes next?" I took My hand away slowly. "_Freedom_."

I moved the blade over to the side of her face. I shook My head twitchily. "This won't hurt." I narrowed My eyes and looked at the wall behind her. I waved My left hand dismissively and brushed My hair back over the bandages. "Well, it might a _little, _I don't really remember, but, uh, afterwards you'll be a brand new woman."

it was kind of an inappropriate time, really, to be totally honest with you, for anyone to come barging in just then. but the person didn't actually walk in, they just opened the door. from where the entrance was, the person couldn't see us standing there against the wall, and teresa moaned a sob.

the person at the door glanced in curiously and it just happened to be the shrink. _then_ she barged in. 'what the _hell _do you think you're doing?!' she barked, all professionalism gone. she threw her things on the floor, a folder and... a deck of playing cards. 'let her go this minute!'

"Do you _mind_?" I asked irritably. I pulled away from teresa - there was no reason to hold her there anymore - and she stumbled away from Me, towards the shrink. her legs weakened under her and the shrink caught her as she collapsed. 'anita, get some security in here!' the shrink yelled furiously, and looked down at the teresa with a mixture of annoyance and pity. she tugged her over near the door and let her slide to the floor. teresa had some spots of blood on her hands from touching her mouth - she had been nicked by the blade. if she hadn't been shaking so much even that wouldn't have happened.

'what happened, doctor?' a lady came rushing into the doorway.

she spun around viciously. _'what _do you think i mean when i tell you to keep Him supervised at all times?'

'i--i--the lady was just--' the lady started growing red in the face.

'i _told_ you He's dangerous and you just leave Him like that? is this what you do when other doctors give you orders? what, you think just because i don't work in this ward you don't have to listen to me? when i tell you something damn it, get it fucking done! this could have been a _lot_ worse!'

as I listened to her blow her top I tossed the blade onto the bed and slid down onto the mattress.

anytime now, I'd be taken to another location. they'd have to find Me again first to get another shot at killing Me. and chances were they probably wouldn't even be able to get near Me.


	75. some questions

_This chapter was so hard for me to finish up. It's really short but I need to do some research before I continue. I know nothing happened in this chapter, I'm sorry. _

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 75 - some questions

owens bent down to pick up her things. placing them on the counter near the room's sink, she lifted teresa to her feet. she was still crying, but more quietly now. owens' prior fury was gone, and she said gently, 'anita, send her with a nurse to my ward.' then she glanced sharply at her. 'don't send her alone. and get doctor phillips to visit her immediately. keep paging him. don't leave her alone.'

anita nodded in embarrassment and said, 'yes doctor.' she helped teresa walk unsteadily out of the room.

when they left, we stared at each other for a few moments, and finally I swung My long, thin legs over the other side of the bed, closer to her. she took a step back towards the door. 'don't come near me.'

I chuckled a little. "Scared?"

she made no reply, but she glanced at the knife that sat next to Me. there were spots of blood on the blade, as well as red droplets on the bed. I picked it up lazily and folded the blade in. I tossed the knife towards her, and it stopped at her feet.

she looked down at it. by the time she looked up at Me again, there were two hospital security guards standing in the doorway. both of them had their hands ready at their guns, and behind them I could see two hulky orderlies.

owens looked over her shoulder and bent down to pick up the blade. she gave Me one final glance. she looked at the closest guard. 'He should come quietly. but take no chances.'

she started walking past the guards and out of the room as they walked cautiously in, and I called out, "you should have let Me finish. Now you'll be guilty."

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

I was handcuffed to a chair. and My wrists weren't just cuffed to one another, the chain went through the back of the chair, making it impossible for Me to move without dragging the chair along with Me. I couldn't really move except to kick My legs. this room was some kind of holding cell. I looked around, and disappointingly, it was as white as the icu room. the table was made of stainless steel, just like My chair. it was at the hospital's psych ward. I wasn't really sure how long I'd been here, but I was bored. everyone getting worked up over a little bit of blood and some tears. who cares?

two days without sleep and I didn't even yawn. My eyes didn't blur and My body wasn't tired. so I did the only thing I could do. wait.

the room looked more sterile than it smelled, making Me feel like some sort of scum...well, I probably was, but that's beside the point. even a squeaky clean germophobe would feel the same.

luckily, I didn't have to wait long. otherwise I might have thrown a fit. owens walked in with the same file, and that same deck of cards. she dropped those things in front of Me, and then took the deck of cards and placed it in the center of the table. I glanced at it.

she had brought in a sweet-smelling feminine fragrance with her. it smelled like flowers. that was probably better than smelling like fruits. I sniffed the air. "I smell fresh meat, do you?"

she seated herself across from Me. 'would You like to tell me what happened in there?'

"No."

she moved the deck of cards closer to herself. 'okay, fine. do You know of any other way to contact Your brother? the number he gave the icu nurse is disconnected.'

"I'll bet."

she frowned. 'what's that supposed to mean?'

I shrugged My right shoulder. "Figure it out yourself."

she hesitated. then she picked up the deck of cards. 'do You want this?'

I smiled slightly. "I'll live without it." she put the deck of cards back down.

then she shook her head like she didn't have the time or patience for games. 'we're going to have to move You from recovery to the psychiatric ward. and we have to put You through some tests. they're all psychological tests, nothing physical.'

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

'i don't make assumptions about my patients,' she replied carefully.

I gave a cackle of mirth, and bending forward to laugh hurt My left shoulder. it was still inflammed. "So that's _not _why you told...uh...anita, to keep Me supervised at all times?"

'that particular assumption turned out to be correct.'

"I wasn't trying to hurt her, honest."

'she was bleeding,' owens replied icily.

"That's her own fault. She was shaking too much."

'because of You.'

I wet My lips. they felt very dry. and a little itchy at the sides. I licked at them, feeling the hard thread of My stitches. "Not everyone likes to be helped."

she studied My face for a few moments. 'You think...You were helping her?'

"Well, I was _try_ing to... until uh, a certain, _some_one interrupted."

she looked as though there was another question at the tip of her tongue, but she decided not to ask it. 'i'll send some nurses to help You get settled in.' she stood up and picked her her file.

she left the deck of cards on the table.


	76. My new room

_Hi everyone. The research that I talked about in the last chapter will probably go on to reveal itself bit by bit. I just needed to find out about procedures in dealing with mentally unstable patients, and with someone like the Joker, if he suddenly exhibited harmful behavior, they do what's called an emergency psychiatric evaluation. And then from there the only thing they can do is continue with sessions to give him a diagnosis. I went through a huge list of psychiatric problems -- specifically, the Diagnostical and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition (or DSM-IV) -- that could be wrong with someone like him, and at the top of my list were narcissistic personality disorder and antisocial personality disorder. If you care, you can look those two up, but even if you don't, you'll read about the symptoms it in my story. Apparently I've already captured both disorders in my story. Jack already had his antisocial personality disorder, and his narcissism developed after he woke up in the hospital. I'm sure he has other disorders. _

_I'm not a Psych student or anything, but more recently I've been very interested to learn more about Psychology. If I get something wrong, please let me know. I believe the DSM-IV is what is used to help in the diagnosis of patients, but some kinds of disorders are not actually clinical diagnoses, like pathological liars. I think (I think) the reason is probably because the diagnosis is much too similar to something else that's already in the DSM-IV. This Manual is very brief, but just enough for me to understand the most important aspects of the disorders. Again, if I get something wrong, please let me know._

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 76 - My new room

this hospital room was very unnerving. I mean, even for Me. and now that I've been...uh, _alive _...for about two days, I think that I'm the kind of person who doesn't get unnerved very easily.

this room was completely empty, except for two things - a metal bed, and a metal table with all blunt edges and corners, both white of course. the walls were white tile, the floor was white tile, and well, I was actually surprised the ceiling wasn't white tile, but guess what? it was white concrete. even My door was white. at the moment, it was a little bit open, and I could hear people walking past My room, and the quiet chatter of passersby.

the window was made of glass with mesh wiring inside it, and a criss-crossing of hard iron bars - painted... yup, you guessed it - on My side of the glass. the space between the iron bars was enough to fit My fingers through only, and brush the glass. I stroked My chin thoughtfully. the window was too high for Me to get a closer look at the window sill, so I dragged the metal table over and stood up on it. the iron bars were seamlessly built into the wall. peeking out, I noticed I was about two or three floors up. that was My best guess, since I couldn't stick My head out to get a better look.

as far as I could see, there was a large parking lot with a sign marked employees only, and a parking attendant near a booth. cars glistened under the late morning sun in all colors, vapors rising out of the concrete in hazy waves. one particular car caught My eye, the most unusual color in the bunch. those kinds of colors were usually custom colors, not standard. glistening as brightly as any other car there, was this vivid, acid-green one. the sun glared off the windshield right at Me, maybe that was why it caught My attention.

'i see You're making Yourself comfortable,' said a voice behind Me.

since the ceiling was not high enough for Me to stand up straight, I was a little hunched over. I glanced over My shoulder. "I wouldn't put it that way, exactly."

'we can get You some color in here, if You like.'

I turned around and jumped down lightly. they had given Me new clothes to wear, a set of white scrubs. as much as I wanted this room to have color, and she probably didn't have any issues with providing Me with colors, I still couldn't trust her. I looked at her arms. she was holding a hospital bag. the bag said, bludhaven memorial in big blue letters. she saw Me looking and said, 'these are Your things. well, what's left of them.'

she handed it to Me.

giving her a quick, appraising look, and judging that it was okay for Me to look inside the bag, I opened it. inside were two clear plastic bags. both the bags had logos of what looked like a flask, a beaker and a test-tube arranged in an orange square. I pulled both out at the same time and let the gotham bag fall to the floor.

inside one bag was a set of cut up, muddy clothes. the mud was a greenish gray, and was still caked on the jeans and full-sleeved shirt. in the other bag was a beaten up wallet, also smeared with dry streaks of the same mud.

'the lab warned against opening the bags. this mud is highly toxic and could contaminate the air.'

I put the bag of clothing on the table and opened the wallet inside the plastic bag. there was no id card in the clear flap on the right, and no credit cards. I turned it and opened the compartment for the cash, finding a few bills.

"Did you take My id?"

she pointed to the top of the bag, and ran her fingers along the seal. 'this bag has never been opened. the police don't have your id either. either You didn't carry id, or, whoever tried to hurt You took it to prevent identification. for the time being, You're classified as a john doe. when I met teresa, she still hadn't called the bludhaven police to tell them she knows Your identity. afterwards, i requested that she keep that information to herself for now.'

"Why?"

'i think it would be in Your best interests to find out Your past on Your own, instead of someone telling You. at the moment, the only thing You know is that Your name is jack. You don't even know Your surname.'

"you know," I began, tossing the plastic bag that held My old wallet onto the bed. "I don't like you holding information about Me like that."

'don't You think it will be in Your best interests to find out on Your own?'

I walked around her, to her right, so she had a clear path to the door. "Don't _you _think it will be in _your _best interests not to upset Me?"

she didn't take the chance to leave. instead she looked at Me calmly. 'i never underestimated You.'

"I don't think it's possible _not _to underestimate Me."

'i don't trust You. isn't that proof enough that i haven't underestimated You?'

for a moment or two, I just blinked at her. then I burst into laughter. just a second ago I had been getting angrier and angrier and now here she was, saying she didn't trust Me. now _that_ was funny! "you think...haha! you think that you don't _trust _Me?" My laughter grew higher as I thought about how funny what she had said was. "Listen, you _must_ trust Me, because you're here. Right now! With Me! _Alone_!"

she let Me giggle for a while longer, and then said, 'what makes You think I didn't take precautions?'

I rubbed My eyes and stopped laughing, the smile dying on My damaged lips. "Do you _really _want to test out your, uh, contingen-_cies_?" I mocked.

she gave Me a dry smile. 'no, not at this time.'

I walked around her again, this time, closing in on her only way out of the room. "Come on," I urged, beckoning with My left hand. "Let's test it out. Do you want to leave the first test to a moment when you're really in danger?"

she backed towards the door, brushing past Me slightly. she put her hand on the door's handle. 'do I have to be concerned about my safety?'

I gave her a smug smile, and opened the door with a falsely gallant air. "I think you already know the answer to that."

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

some time later, I was lying in bed on My back, feeling My stitches itch a little. I continually ran My tongue against the inside of My mouth, offering little relief to the itchiness.

with My hands I was tearing up the cards of the deck one by one. it was a fresh deck, untouched, unaltered by oily fingers until I had touched them with Mine. the deck's box had even been sealed with a sticker on both ends. the cards were in perfect order, perfectly lined, a smooth surface on all sides, the corners curved and seamless. _rip. rip. rip._

keeping the deck balanced on My chest, I slid one off the top and tore it two, letting the pieces fall on either side of Me. The first card had been an ace of spades. now I was at the ten of spades. _rip_.

_gee, I wonder what's next_. jack of spades.

I stared at this card for a long time. it could have been My namesake. _not anymore_. I was about to rip it up. all that needed to be different was his face. he was too serious, this guy. all he needed was a nice big smile and he'd be a different person. maybe it was not too late to change him. I put him aside.

I went through the rest of the deck, drawing nearer to the last cards that sat flush against My chest.

_queen of hearts_. _pretty lady. the lady..._

hmm, now wasn't there a game that involved the queen? just in case there was, I put the queen aside with My fated jack.

just a few more cards left. _rip. rip. rip._

and there they were. two glossy, colorful joker cards. he was the only one who wasn't a freak - the other people in the deck, the jack, queen, and king, all had two heads. the joker only had one, and he had a full torso and two spidery legs with pointy shoes. there was nothing wrong with this guy. I could keep him just as he was and not change a single thing.


	77. trying to remember

_A big thank you to J-Horror Girl for pointing out something important about my story. That last review helped me start this next chapter. :D _

_I just want to point out that this style of writing is mine. I haven't seen anyone else use it and I created it specifically for the Joker to fit his character. Maybe someone else used it before I did, but I have yet to find a fic that writes from the Joker's POV like this...so if and until I do, this style is mine. We are all writers here and I don't think anyone else would want to use this style of writing, because let's face it, everyone wants to be unique and original. But just in case, I decided to just mention that if anyone does, then please don't plagiarize, let people know where you saw it. Remember, the word plagiarism doesn't only encompass words, but ideas too. Thank you._

chapter 77 - trying to remember

when I was finished, I brushed the torn pieces to the floor and walked on them over to My table, which was still below the window. I set the undamaged cards there. this family was starting to look kind of lonely without all the other cards in the deck. I would have to remember to ask owens for more.

now what had she been saying about remembering things on My own? I couldn't be sure exactly how much she knew about Me, and I _knew_ that teresa knew a lot more about Me than the shrink did. well, she was a lost cause now. but she had told Me something useful. I was a seasoned killer. well, okay. that's an exaggeration. I had killed in self-defense. I mused about it. I wondered if I had enjoyed killing that guy. thinking about it now sounded like fun. especially if I had such a great excuse for it like self-defense. then I wouldn't even go to prison for it. if I had a really great lawyer.

I wished I had some details about it. teresa hadn't told Me much. why did she care so much about that guy anyway? she was still upset, I couldn't believe it. the guy was beating her up and she was _upset _that he was dead? go figure. women. I'll never understand them.

maybe one day I'd be able to find out exactly what had happened.

lunchtime apparently rolled around - there was no clock in here - the only reason I knew was because a nurse's assistant came in with a tray topped with hospital food. she waited in the room with Me while I poked at the pasta. there was no other chair in this room, so instead of just standing around, the lady started to pick up the pieces of torn cards. "Leave it." I said before she even touched a piece, and took a few bites of the pasta. she waited for a moment with her hand hovering over the bits of paper, and then she stood up.

I stopped picking at the pasta and just ate the little bit of pudding they had served for dessert and poured the sugar out of the little packets into My mouth. some crystals fell on My face, and as I dusted them off, I asked, "When is, uh, dr owens coming to see Me?"

'i don't know. i can page her if You'd like.'

"That's good. Page her. I'll be waiting."

so I waited. I hadn't slept all day, and I was very restless. the only thing I could do was pace. that lasted for about seven minutes, then I started searching every inch of the room for a weakness. while I waited for owens to show, another woman walked in and handed Me a bunch of fat markers with felt tips. I looked at them as she held it out to Me. she also had several sheets of white paper. "For _Me?"_ I crooned as I took them from her.

she glanced down at the pile of twisted, torn cards and then glanced at the four that sat on the table. 'if You need anything else, just press the nurse's button, okay?'

I nodded distractedly and ripped through the package of markers. they clattered to the floor, but I had the one I wanted in My hand. red.

she left Me.

I crushed down the pile of cards again with My bare feet as I walked to the table under the window. _where's jack?_

I knelt down eagerly and snatched him up. his empty, sleepy eyes stared back at Me, his lips full but serious, his palm against his royal robes over his breast...I pulled off the marker's lid with My teeth, and dragged the fresh tip across his mouth. just as I had suspected, the change was dramatic, and he was smiling! _grin_-ning! I could almost hear a laugh rumbling in His throat, a release of tension, pure elation. He was so happy, so free. He'd never had that before, trapped in that box with all those other crazies and freaks and monsters, and here He was, out in the open, free forever, laughing in the faces of His foes.

after I finished laughing, I looked at his face more. something was missing. his eyes. they didn't _pop_. I looked at the joker cards. both of the jokers were the same design, but the colors were different. one was most yellow with bits of purple, the other was mostly purple with bits of yellow. their faces were painted with black patterns around their eyes. so I tried to mimick the patterns, but those stupid fat markers were too _fat_! I couldn't help but mess up on the first try, so I just ended up circling each of jack's eyes. well, at least he didn't look sleepy anymore.

maybe this card was too small for closer details. I hadn't thought about that. I reached back towards the bed and slid over a sheet of paper to the floor. then I picked up a black marker and drew the eyes in large, messy circles, about as far apart as My own eyes. then a messy, jagged smile in red. I held it up at arm's length, and level with My face, and I felt like I was looking into a mirror. I smiled at the scribbles. I wasn't sure why. that face gave Me a feeling of satisfaction, of finally getting what belonged to Me. it was a feeling deep in My stomach, grounding, secure, certain.

then it hit Me.

I was remembering. not the actual event, but the feeling. I lowered the paper and stared into space, trying to recall what had happened to Me, what could make Me feel this emotion of jubilation bred from satisfaction.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, thinking, trying to remember, but I just couldn't. I ran My fingers through My hair. well, I tried. but I was still bandaged up. feeling around for the end, I found it at My nape, and I tugged it loose. then I spent the next few minutes unravelling the bandages and casting them aside.

I had no mirror, so the best I could do was feel the left side of My head. I felt the sutures again, the ones I had spotted in teresa's mirror, and I ran My fingers through My greasy hair. some strands were unevenly matched, like I had been given a partial haircut. I took both hands and ruffled up My hair. that felt much better. limp locks hung loose and unkempt over My forehead, falling into My eyes.

I picked up the crude drawing I had made. _details. details make memories. think think think what do You remember? what was happening? what did He look like? why was He smiling? details, details. hair! I have hair. He must have had hair. _

_ears, irises, eyebrows, lips, nose, cheeks, jaws, teeth...shadows..._

_neck, shoulders, clothes, muscles, chest, body hands fingers veins, knife, blood, gloves, leather, purple, purple purple, purple!... damn it always running out, never enough color...purple, purple--_

I hurled the empty marker across the room with a roar. I spun around on the floor, and searched through the remaining markers for purple. the closest color was a pastel hue of violet . I flung that with even more fury at the wall. it bounced off with a sharp clatter and rolled across the floor.

I had several sheets of papers jigsawed together to form the torso of a full-grown man wearing a purple outfit. as I was reaching his waist the purple had rapidly grown dry. I stared at the man's face, white with brown eyes circled with black and gray. a huge red grin stretching abnormally high into his cheeks, his hair lumpy and messy and brown.

I couldn't remember. it didn't matter what I did. I stared at him, his smile, mocking Me. laughing at My inability to remember. his eyes laughed along with his jagged lips. he couldn't move but if he could I was sure he would be pointing at Me. slapping his nonexistent knee and doubling up, guffawing.

I shoved away his partial body, sending sheets of paper flying aside. his head moved slightly, but he was still laughing. I picked up the sheet of paper by the sides and looked into his eyes.

and just like that, it was a mirror again.


	78. so close

_Hi everyone! I just wanted to point out that in the last chapter, when he was eating the sugar out of the little packets I was thinking of L from Death Note. Please watch the series if you get the chance, it's incredible. _

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 78 - so close

I tossed the drawing of his head over My shoulder. I chuckled to Myself. I shouldn't have gotten angry at all. that was like... like seeing your reflection in a mirror in the dark and scaring yourself. same thing.

_**I **__am He. I __**am **__He. I am __**He**__._ hmm, which sounds better? aw hell, they all sound great!

I leaned back onto the cold tile floor and stared at the ceiling. two minutes and I was back on My feet. time to go.

I searched around My mattress for the nurse's button, and discovering it wedged under My pillow, I gave it a buzz, and it lit up.

I picked up the cards I had set aside from the rest of the deck and since I had a breast pocket on My white hospital scrubs, I slid them in there.

I flicked the light switch. The room was plunged into relative darkness, and My eyes adjusted slowly. The only light now came in through the window, casting a square of sunlight on the floor. I waited near the door.

I had a feeling they had locked My door, and when I tried it now, it didn't turn. I knew they didn't trust Me. but that didn't matter. they couldn't think of everything to defend against. as far as I knew, only one person entered My room at any given time. no one waited outside for added safety, so the one person was basically defenseless if I suddenly chose to go rogue. as far as I knew. every plan always has a weakness, even Mine. what if all this time there actually _was_ someone waiting outside quietly? well, if something happened the worst was that I'd be thrown back in here with added security. it would just get harder to escape. that wasn't _so_ bad. might even be more fun.

so I just stood there by the door, My ear to the wall, listening for the sound of footsteps. after several moments, I heard them, but I heard only one set, clipping the floor as the person drew nearer. the steps stopped outside My door. I heard a key turning in the lock.

I stepped away from the door and sat down on the floor next to the pages scattered around. I reached over to the lab bags that owens had left behind and dragged them to the floor.

a woman walked in. but she wasn't dressed like a nurse. she was dressed like a doctor. she wore a white coat over her clothes with a tag on it, and a stethescope around her collarbones. she smiled brightly at Me. 'hi there, just doing my rounds. You need something?'

I waved the lab bags at her. "she left them here by mistake."

the woman frowned slightly and came over, bending over to take the bags from Me. 'okay, i'll take them back to her.' she tucked them under her left arm. then her eyes went to My drawings, and rested on the drawing of the man's head. she let a smile spread over her face.

I glanced up at her. "I need more purple."

she pointed at the head. 'do You mind if I take a closer look?'

I stretched My lips down and shrugged. "Go right ahead."

she carefully bent down and started to pick it up off the floor. I leaned towards another sheet of paper, one of his shoulders, and picked it up off the floor. she was a little startled by My sudden movement, but recovered quickly. she straightened up. 'do You need anything else?'

I stood up to My full height, suddenly dwarfing her. she couldn't have been a few inches more than five feet. I Myself was about six feet tall. she didn't hesitate to run, her hand outstretched for the doorframe. it didn't take too much effort on My part to overpower her. I clapped a hand over her mouth before she could scream and ripped the stethescope away. shoving one end into My mouth between My teeth, I looped it around her neck. she gave a muffled squeal as she bucked in My grip.

taking both ends of the stethescope in My right hand, I cinched it tight around her throat. she started clawing at it, doing her best to get her fingers under the cord. I pulled it even tighter and leaned down to her ear. "I just need your coat," I said quietly.

she was close to My own body, pulled to My chest, and she kicked her legs, her feet noisily slapping the floor. I couldn't have any of that. someone could hear. I gripped her wavy hair and shoved her to the floor face down, head first. holding her down, I held the stethescope steadily tightened around her neck. she stopped struggling after about two minutes, and in another minute she was unconscious. holding a hand in front of her nose, I discovered she wasn't breathing. she would need resuscitation if she was to live.

I pulled her arms back and slid off the doctor's coat. since it was such a loose garment to begin with, on the small-framed woman, it fit Me, although it was a little bit tight. I took back the stethescope and placed it around My own neck. then I looked down at My feet. they were pale and bare and there was no way I would be able to squeeze My feet into her tiny shoes. bare feet would be absolute giveaways. it didn't matter if I was wearing a doctor's coat.

I dug around in her coat pockets and found a set of keys and a keycard. I had to get out of this room before someone sensed a problem.

moving closer to the doorway, I first listened for footsteps. but I heard nothing so I ventured a peek into the hallway. it was mostly empty, except for a lone, fragile man tottering out of one room and into another. he wore house slippers and was completely oblivious to My presence.

just outside My door was a wheeled cart topped with a _lot_ of medications and two stacks of tiny, upside-down paper cups. I eased the cart away so I could get out of My room. I started to go into a room diagonally opposite Mine, when a man opened the door. his eyes widened in surprise and to be honest, so did Mine. I hadn't expected him to be there. he reached for the doorframe again, and I knew why the other woman had done the same - there was a round, red panic button at every door. before he could get to it I rushed him, and tackled him to the floor of the room he was just exitting. a burst of air flew out of him, and the patient in the room was a young man who looked either really sleepy or really drugged up. I balled My hand into a fist and threw the hardest punch I could into the doctor's face. he gave another moan of pain.

I let him lie there for a few moments while I ripped off his shoes and tugged them on, keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't get up. I dug around in his pockets and found another set of keys, and a pen. I pocketed both items. searching his clothes and his pants pockets, I found a set of car keys, a wallet, a comb and an unused handkerchief, folded neatly. it had probably been ironed. ugh. "Are all doctors pathetic squares like you?" I muttered.

he groaned and started to sit up. I pushed him back down. 'what have You done with cheryl?' he squinted at Me.

"she's dying," I replied nonchalantly. "That is of course assuming she isn't already dead." I gave his horrifed face a swift, easy grin and ran out of the room.

from there on, I hit every panic button I passed and at the end of the hallway was a room marked, employees only. it was locked and I needed keycard access. but there was a problem. I also needed a passcode that had to be entered in a keypad. I was about to leave when I heard someone moving inside. I peeked around the corner into another, even longer hallway, and when I saw no one was around yet in response to the panic alarms, I hid while the person exited. she was pushing a cart filled up with syringes, gloves, disinfectant wipes, alcohol swabs, the works, and she left the way I had come.

before the door could slowly close, I grabbed it and slipped inside. I allowed it to click shut behind Me.

okay, so this was a supply room. and it was _huge_. it was about three or four times the size of My room, with each cabinet door and drawer marked with white labels. always white. I wished I had some markers right then so I could draw on the walls and give this place some color. but there was no time for that now. I found it unlikely that anyone would think to check the carefully guarded supply room for Me, but there was always a possibility that they would. and of course, someone was bound to come inside sooner or later.

I started searching. within a short while, I found more things for My disguise - a hospital mask, a hair-cap, gloves, different kinds of surgical scissors, and the best part, neatly packaged scalpels. I pocketed several of those, and they were sharp enough to slice through My skin and not even make a sound. as I licked the blood from My left finger, I glanced at the cabinets again. always white. I made another, deeper incision on My finger, and went to the row of cabinets opposite the door. I squeezed a fat drop of blood from the cut and dragged it across the clear glass doors in three, very short words. _HA HA HA_

I snickered to Myself. too bad I didn't have a whole bucket of blood to throw over this whole room. or paint.

I opened up the cabinets as I sucked on My bleeding finger. all kinds of medications neatly stacked or boxed or piled everywhere, alphabetically labeled and ordered by potency and milligrams.

as I went through the drawers and cabinets I came upon codeine. I chewed the inside of My mouth thoughtfully. "Hunh." I skipped some shelves and came up to the m medications. morphine tablets. then o. oxycontin. this place was a goldmine!

I also picked up ketamine valium, xanax. by the time I was finished, My coat pockets were bulging like a kid's who had just stolen a bunch of candy from a broken vending machine. I stood in front of a cabinet and checking My reflection in the glass, I tucked more hair into the hair cap and fixed My mask. okay, so I looked like I was about to walk into surgery, and I guessed there wasn't an operating room anywhere around here. this was the psych ward.

with caution, I opened the door and saw several people running by. no one paid Me any attention, and I seized the distraction to turn the corner and move to a less populated area of the ward. nurses were coming from one direction and I headed in the other.

soon I drew near a group of elevators and hanging signs. I was only interested in one thing. the exit. and there was a sign over what looked like a stairwell door. it didn't look like a fire escape, so I took it and flew down the stairs. the whole stairwell was completely empty, and the only sounds were My echoing steps on hard concrete painted with - _NO_! not white! it was a dark teal! I laughed to Myself and drew near to the final floor, and the door was marked with a capital g.

I tugged the gloves and hair cap off before I stepped out through the door.

well, before I could, two men burst in, guns out. they looked like hospital security. and a closer look told Me those were stun guns.

I tsked irritably. "Great." I dropped the rubber gloves and the hair cap, and held up My right hand, thumb and index finger less than an inch apart. "you know I was _this_ close?"

'don't move!' the nearest one yelled, pointing the gun right at My chest, inches away. the other one held his gun aimed at Me too. 'You're a long way from surgery, _doc_,' he quipped sarcastically.

I raised My hand and pulled My mask down. "Uh, yeah, I just--"

'i said, _don't, move!'_

"--Left. This wasn't exactly the type of cosmetic surgery I had in mind--"

'shut up!'

"--But it's kind of grown on Me, y'know?"

I heard footsteps stomping down the stairs above. I looked upwards for the source of the noise.

'put Your hands on Your head! _now!_'

"you don't need to yell, you know, I'm not deaf."

'do it!'

I rolled My eyes and lazily put My hands behind My head, as though I was getting ready to lean back into a hammock in the summer.

the people coming down the stairs finally reached us.

someone behind Me said, 'don't move.' then they handcuffed Me. I had been so close.


	79. the new doctor

chapter 79 - the new doctor

after they caught Me, I was molested for a while as they searched Me for weapons. they even searched inside My mouth with gloved hands. it was the guy who yelled at Me, so I bit him, hard. he gave a yell of pain and without even thinking, punched Me in My jaw. "Aw!" My head snapped back, and I brought it back laughing. he grabbed My shirt and pulled his fist back for another hit, but the other guy stopped him. he let Me go with a shove. they didn't search My mouth again.

as they walked away, My four playing cards now in their possession, I called out, "Hey, give those back."

the one I had bitten replied, 'go fuck Yourself.'

I chuckled. "Hey, that's not very nice. I'm still cuffed you know."

I licked My lips, tasting blood from a newly split lip. My smile fading, I watched them leave.

I was back down to My hospital scrubs, barefooted, and this time, I was handcuffed to the back of the chair, and My ankles were locked to the chair's legs.

in a few minutes, they returned with some other men, and put Me back in a different room.

this room looked more like a bunker than a hospital room. the bed was a torture table with leather straps and the walls were a faded gray. there was no window. there was no table. I didn't resist as they tied Me down. I didn't really have any reason to. maybe I'd finally get some sleep.

but... no such luck. I was wide awake and pondering My next move. I wondered what they were going to do now. more counselling? they couldn't medicate Me. the best they could do was restrain Me, and well, they'd outdone themselves in a matter of days. less than a week. I shook My head to Myself. what a bunch of morons. I was actually amazed they had the foresight to block My exit at the stairs. so they _did_ have two brain cells to rub together. ...owens might have three. four, tops.

I wasn't sure what time it was until she finally walked in, but she looked very worn out. her make up was rubbed off and her eyes were a little bloodshot. inspite of all that, she looked very...pissed. and here I was, tied down. she could seriously hurt Me. wait. is that _really_ a cause for complaint?

she was carrying a folding chair and a file. opening up the chair, she dropped the file into the seat. she took a breath and closed her eyes briefly. then she looked directly at Me. 'they said You asked to see Me.'

"Uh, yeah. You need to bring Me more cards. I need as many decks as you can get. All different."

'why?'

"And I need more purple. How am I supposed to remember anything without any purple?"

she blinked in confusion and moved the file so she could sit down. 'You need to slow down, and talk to me clearly. I can't keep up with You.'

"Where have you been all day? I thought I was your patient."

'You are. do You want to talk about what happened?'

I glared at her. "What's going on here?" I asked coldly.

'aren't You supposed to be telling me?'

"What are you hiding from Me?"

'my information for Yours.'

I raised My head. "You, are toying with the wrong person."

she pulled her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. 'listen, jack, i--'

"_DON'T_, call Me _that_."

she stiffened at My abruptly monstrous growl, and the color drained from her face a little. from the minute she had walked in her normal composure wasn't present. My voice echoed a little, leaving a ringing silence behind. she was frozen for several moments, until finally she licked her lips nervously and said, 'what do You want to be called?'

I dropped My head back onto the bed.

there was a knock on the door. her head snapped in the direction and she hastily went to the door. but before she could open it a young man entered, followed by a much older man. the young man's lips curled into a smile of polite smugness. he was wearing a crisp gray suit with a tie, and held a briefcase. I could almost hear owens choking back a scream as she spoke: 'what is going on here?'

the older man said, 'please, natalie, let's--'

'that's dr owens,' she hissed.

the old man grew a little red in the face. 'doctor, let's please talk outside.'

she gave Me one last look and walked out, leaving the young man standing in the room with Me. when they left, he smoothly shut the door behind himself and walked over. he had slightly wavy, dark brown hair, and the steeliest blue eyes I had ever seen behind a pair of brown, plastic-rimmed glasses.

"Who the hell are you?"

'i'm dr jonathan crane. You'll be under my superior's care at arkham. i thought it would be a good idea to get a little acquainted, since You'll be seeing me a lot.' he held a hand out close enough for Me to shake it, but I didn't move, just stared.

arkham...arkham...now why did that sound familiar? where had I heard that before? it was just recently, just a day or two ago--teresa! she had told Me about it. something about it being an open sore--

he gave a quiet chuckle and took his hand away. 'if You prefer, i can tell them that You're not qualified to be at arkham. another attempted escape like that and they'll send You to blackgate penitentiary.'

"No one is _sen_ding Me anywhere."

he gave a short, snide laugh. 'i beg to differ. You my friend, are a volatile person. You're better off at arkham, where i'll be sure to give You more freedom than blackgate.'

_in return for what?_ I continued to glare at him from the bed. he stood above me, smiling. I already hated him. he was thin and looked underfed. he was a class a nerd who wouldn't sleep with a student if she threw herself at him...or if _he_ threw himself at him. he was quite short and small-framed. he looked like someone who would usually get picked on. so why was he so confident? so smug?

'what do You say?'

I licked My lips thoughtfully. "What's in it for you?"

for the first time he lost his smile, and sat down on the chair. placing the briefcase on his lap, he opened it up, hiding the contents from Me. but he didn't answer My question. 'i research fears and phobias. tell me, what are You afraid of?'

My answer was swift and truthful. "Nothing."

he pulled out a dirty looking brown sack-cloth. 'do You like masks?'

"Uh..."

'i myself find them fascinating. there are many kinds of masks, You know. there are physical ones - such as this one - and there are psychological ones. the latter are the ones that captivate me.'

"Uh-huh," I replied boredly. "Look, could you send owens back in here?"

'i always love wearing this mask.'

"Yeah, could you wear it while you're _leaving_?" what was _up_ with this guy?

he pulled something else out of the briefcase. it was a respiratory mask connected to a small metal can.

I smacked My lips. "What's in it for you if I come to arkham?"

he leaned forward and fixed My face with the mask. I had no reason to resist, really. I gave a small giggle. "Isn't this a violation of patient rights?"

completely ignoring Me, he turned a knob on the metal cylinder, and I heard a gentle hissing sound.

he stared at Me, waiting.

the stuff gave off a slightly chemical odor, but that was about it. "I, uh, think you really need to work on a new sales technique. this perfume doesn't smell so great by the way."

his face finally lost that confident expression. his eyes widened slightly and his lips parted. he leaned forward and turned the knob all the way. the hissing grew a little bit louder, but that was all.

"Are you even listening to a _word_ I'm saying?"

'impossible,' he breathed.

"I guess not. What a waste of a good joke."

after a short while the hissing stopped, and he just sat there in the silence. then he pulled the mask off. he stared at My face, flabbergasted. 'that's im_poss_ible!'

"_What'_s impossible?"

'what are You?'

"What do you _mean_?" I asked irritably. "Maybe you should be strapped down here."

'that's completely impossible!' he jumped to his feet, shoving the items into his briefcase as he closed it.

"What, that your perfume doesn't smell nice?"

'just shut up and let me think!'

I laughed. he shot Me a glare and I just laughed harder.

'i said shut up!'

"What, can't laugh at yourself?"

he started growing red in the face, both from embarrassment of failure and anger. I still didn't know what he was trying to do with that chemical perfume. he spun around and left the room in a hurry.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

_I've never written Dr. Crane before. I hope I did a good job of it. This chapter was so hard to write because of that. Please tell me how I did. _


	80. next stop, arkham!

chapter 80 - next stop, arkham!

just minutes after crane left, owens returned. she sat down in the chair and nodded once. 'well, that's it. they're sending You to arkham.'

"I could've guessed."

'why did You try to escape like that?'

"I was bored."

she gave a strained laugh. 'You were bored. i see.'

"Where were you all day?" I asked curiously.

'it doesn't matter now. i'm signing Your release form and--'

"Hey, now wait a minute--"

'--they'll take You to arkham by tomorrow. if You're lucky--'

"Tomorrow?"

'--they'll see fit to tranfer You to blackgate penitentiary--'

"But _why_?"

_'i'm _talking, just listen,' she flared abruptly, then took a breath. 'if they see fit, they'll transfer You to blackgate, but I find that extremely unlikely.'

"But why do I have to go _any_where?"

'You're a criminal, that's why. You have a long history of criminal behavior. if arkham doctors qualify You as insane, and they will, especially after what You caused today, and if they say that You are unfit to stand trial, then You'll spend your incarceration there. otherwise, You'll spend it at blackgate.'

"Are you telling Me, that, uh, I'm going to be in a cell no matter what?"

'yes, that's right.'

I gave a chuckle. "That's _not_ going to happen."

'it's not up to me. i don't work at arkham.'

"So don't you want to play with Me anymore?"

she thought about her answer for a few moments. 'i never was playing. only You were.'

"Hmmm...I like that answer. It's true, you know."

she extended her hand towards Me to shake it. 'i hope things work out for You in the future.'

I raised My head and glanced down at her hand. she waited patiently and sincerely. I hadn't taken crane's hand just a little while ago, but I took hers, stretching My restraint tight. she gave it a firm shake, but when she went to take her hand away, I gave it a squeeze, holding her in place. she looked at My hand, then at My face. "Don't you want to know My name?"

she nodded after a moment.

I gave her the widest smile My broken lips would allow. "Joker."

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

arkham asylum personnel arrived the very next morning, bright and early. I was ready, since I couldn't sleep. they were a little bit different from the hospital staff. they took no chances with Me. they changed Me into arkham garb as four men stood around as a precaution. then they moved nearer while the one standing behind Me handcuffed My wrists behind My back and shackled My ankles. from there they patiently walked along with Me as I shuffled to follow the man in front of Me.

the hallway I was led down was devoid of human life forms. it was like the hospital had suddenly been evacuated completely. they led Me down the hallway into what looked like an emergency bay. there was a white truck backed into the doorway so I could just climb in after the man in front. the two men on either side of Me helped Me in and the last guy jumped in after Me.

they made Me sit in the deepest part of the truck, against the back of the driver, and they put a seatbelt on Me. then two sat on My right and two on My left after they locked the back of the truck.

the truck lurched into motion as I studied each one of those men. none of them looked at Me, and they didn't talk with each other. they were like robots, but I knew it was just their training. "Hey, hey, you guys wanna hear a joke?"

I tsked and shook My head. not one response. not even a glance at Me. "anyone? anyone?" I paused. "Show of hands. C'mon. Don't be shy."

_nothing_. I rolled My eyes and gave the guy on My right a sidelong glance. "There was once this guy, who was in a mental hospital. And he was crazy about this girl, who happened to be a nurse there. But one day, he saw her with another guy and his heart broke. He couldn't take the heart break, so he went to doctor after doctor. Each one just gave him pills, but none of them worked. So finally, he went to a heart surgeon and said, 'doc, you gotta help me.' the doctor says, 'what may i help you with?' and the guy says, 'my heart is broken. i don't want to live with a broken heart. i don't think it can be fixed. just take it out and i'll be as good as new!' "

I busted up laughing, tossing My head back against the wall, making hollow thudding sounds. that joke didn't draw one laugh. but they did turn to look at Me. as My laughs died down, I rubbed some tears away on My shoulder. "Aww. You can't make up stories like that. That really happened, I swear."

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

_This chapter was so hard to finish. Actually, it's not even finished. I just didn't know where else to go with it. I decided to just post it, because it's been so long since I updated. Sorry it's so short. If you guys have any ideas or suggestions about what should happen, or what you'd like to see happen next, please tell me. Oh, and I modeled that joke after another one I heard that he told when he had just lost a fight with Batman, and was waiting for cops to show up. That joke went something like this: There were these two guys who managed to escape from a mental asylum, and one of them had a flashlight. They went up to the roof of the building, and one of them jumped to the next building. But the second one was too scared to jump. Then the first one said, 'I know, I'll shine my flashlight over and you can just walk across!' And the second one goes, 'What, do you think I'm crazy? When I'm halfway across, you'll just turn off the light!' Batman finds it funny and laughs along with the Joker. _


	81. damn it I can't fit the title in!

_Thank you everyone for all your ideas, they helped me get this next chapter written. Hope you like this chapter! _

chapter 81 - this weird guy, and danny the paranoid schizophrenic with bizzare delusions, hahahaha!

since there were no windows inside the truck, the only part of the building I saw was the drop off point. the driver backed the vehicle to the doorway and the men inside the truck helped Me out and into the building. they walked Me to the front desk, which was a glass window with a speaker in the middle, and waited while the receptionist paged an administrator. the doors shut behind us and I noticed that there was a keypad alongside a slot for a keycard. I looked at the receptionist's desk. there was a fire alarm button on the wall, behind the counter. only the receptionist could reach it.

I looked around at the room. this didn't look like an ordinary waiting room, probably because this wasn't the entrance for visitors or outpatients. this place was white with beige floors and some chairs, but no paintings or flowers or tv. nearby was a cart full of towels and blankets which were clean and neatly folded. a little further up were some doors and a hallway that branched into a capital t.

two of the guards that stood with Me departed through the hallway, while two remained and one of them gestured to the chairs. I shrugged and sat down, My chains jingling. My fingers brushed the wall behind Me through the open back of the chair. I started to bounce both My feet, causing the chains around My ankles to rattle endlessly. I looked at both the guards, and then the receptionist. all of them acted like they didn't hear the noise, so I kept going.

after a long time, the receptionist threw Me a tense glance, but didn't say anything. she was on the phone and going through some papers on her desk.

finally an older woman showed up, dressed in a business-like manner, with pearls around her neck and on her earlobes. she looked patient, but I had a feeling that when she snapped it would be in everyone's best interests if they cleared out of the room.

I glanced up at her as she walked over with a guarded smile on her face. 'hi, my name is pat,' she said as she walked to the receptionist's desk and withdrew a file from the window. then she looked down at Me bouncing My feet. 'jack, do You mind stopping that?'

she opened the file, assuming I would stop. but then she glanced over the first page and then looked at Me again. I was still jiggling the chains around. 'You prefer to be called Joker?'

I stopped. "It depends on what _you_ prefer."

she flipped to the next page. 'and what do You mean by that?'

"I mean...--" I smacked My lips. "--I mean if you want a response out of Me, then you should call Me that."

she nodded thoughtfully. 'we'll discuss that later. right now i have to give You a tour of Your new home. welcome to arkham asylum.'

"_Thank _you," I replied, with mock politeness.

she held out a hand to the guard. 'give me the keys.'

the guard dug into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, which she used to unlock My ankles only. 'come on. i'll show You around.'

pat walked a little ahead of Me and the guards followed closely behind. 'we have two different sections at this center. they both consist of the same rooms and facilities, and they're both joined by one room - the lounge. one section is for the men, one for the women. the only time that men and women share time together is in the lounge. there we have games, television, books, arts and crafts, anything You want. i'll show You Your room first, then from there we'll make our way to the rest of the facilities.'

we walked down the left hallway, passing several closed doors with small golden plaques on them for labels. many of them were doctor's offices, one was the janitor's closet, another was a sick bay, another was an examination room. but once we turn right, the floors and walls changed into something much less caustic. the floor was a very light green tiling matched with a very mellow yellow. I would have completely forgotten this was even a hospital, if it wasn't for the smell of disinfectants.

she led Me through some more doors, these requiring security clearance. as we walked down the hallway, rooms were open and I could see men inside, sleeping, or reading or chatting with one another. some of them said hello to the administrator, some disappeared when they saw her coming. she said hello to everyone by name anyway, regardless of whether they acknowledged her or not.

just before going into My room, there was one guy, who furtively stuck his head through a crack in his door and steadily met Me in the eyes as I passed. he didn't move. only his eyeballs did. I didn't really get a good look at him, since his room was in darkness. just before we broke eye contact, his gaze traveled up and down My body and he shut the door.

pat unlocked My door and walked in. this room was clean, had blue tile floors and white walls. the bed's headboard was pushed against the base of the window, and on one side was a large chair, and on the other was a chest. the chest had no handles, but a groove under the drawers to get it open.

'this is our best room. You're welcome to make this room Your own by adding pictures or personal belongings. if Your family or friends want to give You a gift to keep in there, that's perfectly fine as long as it's within our guidelines.'

I glanced around the room, checking the bed's frame - all solid blocks of wood - the legs of the chest of drawers - no wheels or metal, and the chair. that could be turned upside down. as it was, the base ran all the way to the floor. it might have some steel supports in there. not likely, but possible.

'would You like to see the rest of our center?'

I nodded.

'would You like me to remove Your cuffs?'

I nodded again. and she uncuffed Me.

the guy who had peered out at Me from his room didn't look out again. his door was closed and I couldn't hear any noise coming from inside. we'd have a chat later.

we were about to leave the area when three men and two nurses came along and started to coax a guy out of his room. he started screaming, both mixtures of coherent sentences and jibberish. 'you'll never take me alive!'

the guards who were with Me backed Me against the wall, away from the disturbed guy's room. the administrator was shaking her head.

I couldn't see inside the room, but I could hear furniture rattling and some things clattering to the floor. I chuckled, eagerly watching, waiting for more chaos.

as the three men dragged him out of the room, he was shaking his head violently, 'you'll never take me, never never!'

he kicked out with his legs and toppled to the ground. the other patients stared with a mixture of curiosity and concern. some had disappeared instantly into their rooms, only to stick their heads out when they thought no one was watching them. others were talking with one another, some were laughing, some looked ready to burst into tears.

finally one of the nurses administered a sedative, and the men continued to hold him down while his struggling waned.

'help me, help me,' he moaned. 'they're going to harvest me again!'

I burst into laughter. this place was _great_!

the guy frowned and looked around with sleepy eyes. the men helped him up to his feet and took him back into his room. there was a wheelchair parked several feet away, and one of the nurses brought it over and wheeled it into his room.

the administrator looked a little red in the face, but other than that she was calm. she looked at Me. 'are You okay? danny here is a paranoid schizophrenic with bizzare delusions. we go through this every week.'


	82. the rest of arkham

_For this chapter, where he explores more of the psychiatric facilities, I looked at a virtual tour of McLean Hospital in Massachusetts. That place is incredible! Although I don't think Arkham is _that_ nice, it gave me a good idea of what to expect from a psychiatric hospital. _

_HA HAHA HAHA HEE HEE HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA _

chapter 82 - the rest of arkham

when they wheeled the drugged-up schizophrenic out after a short while, I sniffed and noticed a pungent odor coming from him. the administrator explained as we walked along that he was terrified of having a bath and thought the nurses were continuously trying to cause him harm. the last time he'd been bathed was a week ago. everyday he was just sponged over, which was another hassle because he thought the sponges were used to take samples of his dna from dead skin cells. I continued to laugh as she told Me about danny.

after a while she asked Me, suppressing a judgmental tone, 'You find all those details about danny amusing?'

"Uh..._yeah_."

'i see,' she replied evenly. I think if I wasn't there she would have made a note in My file, which she was still carrying around. I glanced at the file in her hand and noticed that it was a plain beige manila folder with My former name on the tab. napier, jack. the folder was so plain. that didn't belong to Me! that probably looked like every other folder they had in the file room, boring old beige with a tab that was stickered in white, marked with all-capital letters, just all the same in that file room, boring, boring _boring!_

'is something wrong?'

"Huh?" I looked at her expectant face. "No, no. Just, uh, looking."

she looked like she wanted to prod more, but if she had stuck Me with a hot iron I probably wouldn't have given her the satisfaction of an answer at that particular moment.

from that building, she led Me outside to a large field of grass, gardens and trees. patients sat around at ceramic tables while guards were posted relaxedly around the area. she pointed at the building we had just left. 'for now, You'll continue to remain within that building. i just decided to show You around to let You know that our mission is to rehabilitate people and reenable them to enter society as different people. You see that podium there? that's our hospital's mission statement incase You're ever interested in reading. as our doctors decide that You're getting better, You'll have more and more access to our grounds.'

she walked a little further along and pointed out a building to Me on our right. 'that's the gymnasium. You can't tell from the outside, but we have a basketball court, a swimming pool and a full line of gym and weight training equipment. on this side, this is the neuro center. right next to it is pharmacology. behind that one, that building way over there, that's the women's ward.' we walked ahead a little bit, and I was thrilled to just be outside for a while.

the colors were so bright after being stuck inside for so long. we walked past a garden of multicolored flowers, and I didn't know what the hell they were called. I ran My hand over them as we walked past, disturbing a couple of bumblebees.

she glanced at Me. 'do You like flowers?'

"Not really," I replied, but didn't elaborate why I was so thrilled. "This place is a lot nicer than that hospital."

for the first time the lady's face lit up, almost as though she was talking about her child. it was a good thing I didn't have to hide a smile, since there was already a grin plastered to My face. 'i'm so pleased You think so. we try very hard to accomodate to every patient.' all I had to do was hold this place hostage and she'd do anything for Me.

we continued along the path and ended up on the outer rim of a short wire fence about five feet tall. beyond that was a twelve-foot tall perimeter fence. that fence sported a sign, screaming in big letters, caution, high voltage. inside was a heavy, smooth gray wall with barbed wires coiled on top. that was also about twelve feet high, perhaps taller. within the walls was a large, squarish building with tiny windows.

in the five-foot fence, there was no opening where we stood. the path simply ended in a circle of tiny cobbled stones.

while the gray wall has a mysterious allure, something told Me escape was not easy. there was no grass, first of all. the ground was dead, wilted bark, and there were no trees to offer shade or comfort.

'that is the maximum security ward. that is the oldest part of arkham. it was built almost a hundred years ago. while the main core of the building has remained in tact, there have been some minor additions. the whole building is made of solid stone. back then people didn't understand psychology like we do today. it was basically used as a place to lock up and forget psychologically disturbed people.'

I glanced at her seriously. I replied caustically, "Doesn't look to Me like much has changed."

she didn't react for a very small moment. I knew she was swallowing her initial reaction and putting another one on. 'i think You just need more time to appreciate this hospital.'

I chuckled and put My elbows on the fence, staring at the original arkham walls. I rested My chin on top of My hands. _I don't think I'll be spending much more time here._

after she let Me stare out there for a while, she said, 'there's just one more place You need to see.'

we walked back inside and turned right, moving towards the women's ward. beeping past a couple of spots of security, she turned left and beeped her card again. she nodded to some security that stood there, and led Me inside into a short hallway. on one side was a sign, cafeteria, on the other, restrooms. straight ahead was the lounge.

the lounge was a just a giant room, filled with couches, tables, and large, illuminating windows. in here were several nurses, a few of them interacting with patients. I glanced around at the patients. some of them were watching tv in two small corners of the room - there were two tvs. some were reading. some were playing games. some people just sat there, riding out their meds' effects.

'the lounge is not a right, it's a privilege, just like the rest of the grounds. everyone here is to be respected and treated courteously. anything less than that and certain privileges are taken away. everyone here needs help in some form or fashion, and they are all here to get better. it's my job as the administrator, and theirs as guards and nurses to help patients achieve that goal. anything impeding that goal will be addressed accordingly.'

that speech sounded rehearsed but after I made that comment outside her tone of voice was a little icy. she turned and looked at Me. 'do You have any questions?'

"No."


	83. patrick

chapter 83 - patrick

I was returned to My new room. right now I was just a prisoner in a nice cell. that suited Me just fine. I needed time to think.

although My door didn't look it from the inside, I knew it was locked. opening it required keycard access from outside. I had already tried walking out.

I checked the chair and found no metal parts. I searched every inch of the room methodically. no loose items, nothing of any use. I scratched at My cuts. they were usually pretty itchy now. I wish I had a mirror so I could get a closer look. already they felt like ropes of bunched up scar tissue. the sutures were still tightly sewn together.

once again, and this was the third or fourth day, I tried to sleep. obviously not needing sleep for so many days on end was not normal. people slept everyday. since medication didn't do the trick, I wondered if perhaps a shot or two of whiskey would do the trick. but I seriously doubted the possibility of the lunch cart bringing along a bottle of jack daniel's to go with a tuna salad.

while I waited to feel any semblance of sleepiness, I heard a timid knock on My door. I raised My head, wondering if I had actually heard something, it was so quiet. but there it was again, shy and hesitant.

sliding out of bed, I walked to My door and wished there was a peephole. leaning My head close to the door, I enquired, "Yeah?"

there was no reply. but there was a gentle scratching at the base of the door. I moved back and looked down in time to see a folded piece of paper slide over to My side, followed by a small white paper bag. before reaching for the paper, I checked the paper bag. inside was a chocolate chip cookie. I gave a quiet chuckle of amusement and picked up the folded paper. it said, in thin, spidery, almost effeminate writing, _Welcome to Arkham. My name is Patrick. What's yours?_

since I couldn't see his face, I couldn't be completely sure who this guy was, but I had a feeling it was the weird guy who had been staring at Me earlier.

he slid a pen under the door and a notepad. I sat down on the floor and took the cookie out of the bag. taking a bite, I wrote, _hi patrick. My name is Joker. do you have any more cookies? _I slid the notepad under the door and within a couple of more bites the cookie was gone. soft-baked chocolate chip. easily a favorite.

the reply, _No. Sorry. That was my last one. When will they let you leave your room?_

_I don't know. _I slid the pad back to him and shook the crumbs out of the paper bag into My mouth while I waited for a reply.

_Do you like games, Joker?_

I smiled. he was the first person to use My name. _yes._

_Me too. I love board games. What kind of games do you like?_

My reply was easy and it seemed to come from nowhere. although I couldn't remember having played one game of poker or go fish, I knew this was the right answer. _card games._

Then, after a long time, he slid the notepad back under the door. _Would you like to be friends?_

I had nothing to lose. _sure._

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

lunch was served to Me inside My room while a nurse attended to Me and two guards waited inside the room. they were much more careful here at arkham, and I just ate as quickly as possible to get them all out.

After lunch was My first session with My new psychiatrist. he was an elderly man, slightly heavy-set with a tuft of white hair and thick glasses. at least owens was a lot nicer to look at. she was a fox. he was a bloated dead body floating on water.

the guards stood there, like always. two of them armed with tasers and handcuffs. they must have sent them over from the maximum security ward. they didn't look friendly.

this particular doctor, while he was certainly competent with handling patients, just wasn't interesting enough for Me. he had been at this job for too long, his ego was too big and he made stuff up if the patient wasn't cooperating. that's the thing with psychiatry. just make stuff up. it's such a subjective field that there's always going to be more than one diagnosis for any one patient.

sitting on his couch was the closest I ever came to sleeping. apparently, if the session happened to be right after lunch time, he came pretty damn close to drifting off too. I think he had a really big lunch and that made him tired. his bulging gut was proof enough that he didn't exactly watch his figure.

after a few days of sessions with this fat guy, they let Me out to eat breakfast. bunched along with a few other men, we were watched from a distance as we were led to the dining hall.

while I was impatient all the time nowadays - I had only managed to get a total of ten hours of sleep in My two weeks awake - I knew I had to bide My time before making a move. anything too soon would jeopardize My escape.

still, after all this time, I had not met patrick face to face. after a few subtle clues from his notes, I deduced that patrick had to be the curious man who had stared out through the crack in the door on My first day here. we had talked with notes for almost everyday since the first time he had befriended Me, and he always offered Me some sort of treat. a piece of candy, a sugar cookie, some chocolate. I wasn't worried about being poisoned, since I was immune to everything.

one thing that I noticed was that he still had not asked Me about My face, the slash of a grin.

now they were scars. I could feel them. the sutures had melted away. organic material that was absorbed into the skin as time went on and the wound healed.

we were not allowed mirrors here, since they were possible suicide instruments. I still hadn't been able to take a look at My face, but after a lot of itchiness, one of the nurses asked if I would like some daily moisturizer. I agreed.

I had picked up a habit of licking the inside of My mouth all the time, since the healing process made the whole area - inside and out - around My mouth itchy. now I couldn't stop. I found Myself doing that anytime I sat idle and thoughtful, teasing the bulky flesh with My tongue.

all that was left of the pain was a very dull ache now, if I ever stretched My lips in a great big grin.

I had so much free time now that sometimes I just sat there and stretched My lips wider, getting used to the ache, forcing the grin wider against the scar tissue. then I felt a sense of deja vu, the same feeling as when I had seen the clown picture for the first time. I stretched My lips wider, hoping for that same wave of familiarity, but none came. the familiarity this time wasn't jubilant or excited or satisfied. it was a sense of dread, the first time I had felt it. I pulled against the corners of My mouth again, and this time there was a sharp stab of pain in both sides. I gave a moan and withdrew My fingers.

the familiarity eventually faded away, but the dread lingered. it was like the feeling you had after a nightmare, but you couldn't remember what the nightmare was.

My scars weren't made by a blade or sharp object. they were tears in My flesh. they had been stretched and torn into existence. the evidence was there. I didn't know the whole story, but it was My dark place. with the way things were going, I'd never find out. I'd just have to...

...fill in the blanks.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

at the breakfast line I waved away the food, not hungry.

the room was littered with guards, but I was so used to them now they were like the wallpaper. other than that, the room was set up like an ordinary cafeteria, with round tables, condiments on top and metal, cushioned chairs. indoor plants flanked each doorway, and the ceiling was paneled with white lights.

I sat down at one of the empty tables and stared at the pale skin on one hand, while I poked and prodded at the raised flesh on My face. on the table was a shiny metal condiment rack, and spilling the salt and pepper shaker out, along with the white napkins, I snatched it up to My face. the scars had lost most of their angry redness from before. now they were a brownish red, the edges protruding out while the center of the scars were pinched inward.

after several moments of turning this way and that, puffing out My cheeks and sucking them in, I finally put the metal rack down. I picked up a bunch of napkins and started to rip them up into little pieces.

no one joined Me at My table. that suited Me just fine. I pulled over the small container of sugar and dipped a finger inside and licked the crumbs off. inside was a plastic spoon, so I scooped up some sugar and poured it into My mouth.

while I crunched away on the crystals, I turned My head. then I knew why. someone had been watching Me. the moment I saw him, he looked away, flustered and painfully shy. he was holding his tray high up, almost up to his chest. I thought that was an abnormal way for a grown man to hold a tray of food, but he was an abnormal man.

I already knew who it was. patrick.

he didn't wear arkham clothes, but his own clothes, and they were a gray sweater and dark blue slacks. he must have been about thirty-something. his hair was brown and feathery, and his skin was pale, like he stayed in the dark a lot. he didn't stand like a man, with his shoulders back, and his chest forward. instead he stood like a woman, neck sloped and hips locked at an angle. patrick hadn't told Me yet, but I already suspected he was gay. seeing him only confirmed it.

finally he set his shy eyes upon Me again. just when I thought he was going to walk over, he stopped before even taking one step and sat down in a big rush at the nearest table.

I rolled My eyes, and ran both hands through My hair. it was finally clean now, and the nurses had given Me with a gentle hairbrush and shampoo. _chicken,_ I thought scornfully. I poured more sugar into My mouth, staring at him as I did. I guessed it was only a matter of time before the tension finally drove him to come and sit with Me.

I was right. he started and stopped a couple of more times, but eventually he managed to sum up enough courage to bring himself all the way to My table and sit down. he looked so nervous it was like he was scared.

when he talked, his voice was so quiet in the din of the cafeteria. his social skills were radically underdeveloped. hell, I should have been a shrink. I saw him mouth move, and barely heard him say, 'hi.'

"_Hiiii_," I drawled.

he gave a tiny giggle and said breathlessly, 'it doesn't look that bad.'

"Uh, what?"

he swallowed, and said, 'Your...scars. they don't look that bad.'

I picked up the metal rack and took another long look. "Hmmm..."

'aren't You hungry?'

I tsked and shook My head.

he looked afraid to move, but finally he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out another cookie, this one wrapped in foil. 'i got this for You.'

smiling, I took the cookie. "you know, I like you patrick." tearing it open, I nodded and took a bite.

he beamed so brightly I almost choked on the piece of cookie in My mouth. coughing, I grabbed the plastic glass of orange juice from his tray and downed about half of it.

'are You okay?' he asked, eyeing the glass in My hand.

I nodded and put the glass down on My side of the table.

abruptly, a guy bent low down next to Me and whispered, 'have they talked to You yet?'

I jerked My head back and whipped My head around.

'go a_way_ danny,' patrick ordered, the inflections in his voice like a woman's.

'no, He has to know what goes on here.'

I cleared My throat. "Uh, what goes on, danny?"

'tomorrow. be careful tomorrow.'

patrick uttered a sound of scorn and almost whined, 'get lost!'

danny straightened up and walked away, muttering, 'tomorrow.'

patrick rolled his eyes. 'don't listen to him. he's crazy.'

I burst out laughing. "he's a _riot_!"

patrick looked startled. 'what?'

I turned in My chair and shouted, 'hey danny, what's happening tomorrow?'

danny ran over, shushing Me maniacally. 'are You _crazy?_ You'll blow My cover.'

"Hey, hey, did you take your medicine today?" I asked him, stifling My giggles and forcing a calm voice.

'that's not medicine! they're _eggs_!' danny grabbed Me by My arkham scrubs collar. he stared at Me with his wild brown eyes, genuinely wide with panic and concern. 'holy shit, tell Me you haven't eaten any of them!'

I howled with laughter.

patrick was staring with his jaw dropped, face drained of any remaining bit of color. he was _jealous!_

My laughs were uncontrollable now, My stomach ached and spasmed and My eyes streamed with tears. it was all I could do to choke out, "I...had some...earlier," just to keep danny going.

but then the guards had to come over and ruin all the fun. danny started to vent his fury at them, causing a ruckus in the room, distressing some other patients.

while I was lost in My fit of laughter, arms draped over the table and My head down, shoulders heaving, I heard scraping on the table as patrick picked up his tray and left.


	84. buncha different stuff

_I just want to say thank you to everyone who has told me, sometimes even repeatedly, that I am getting the Joker's character properly. I really hope I can keep it for you guys. If you think there is anything at all that I need to change or can improve, please let me know. This chapter was hard to write. I had trouble figuring out what would happen next. _

_Oh, and I have a poll up. Please take a couple of minutes to vote. Even if you have never reviewed this story, please vote. I'm having trouble choosing. You have to help me choose which story to write next. _

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 84 - buncha different stuff

routine, routine. _ev_-rything here is roooouuu-_tine_.

it's like they're _beg_ging people to plan a mass breakout.

after that little ripple against the rhythm of the cafeteria, danny and I were kept away from each other. if I was let out of My room, he was locked in his, and vice versa.

patrick didn't approach Me after that day. but he did stare at Me. and he did follow Me around.

it was so hard not to cause problems, but I knew that I couldn't. not yet. after about a month, they started letting Me wander around the grounds more. I was allowed to go outside, and into the lounge. the only women I had seen were nurses, and then finally the lounge let Me see women that were patients.

the only place danny and I were permitted to be around each other was there. I decided it was time to stop making fun of him so the nurses would let us be around each other more. naturally, he already had an explanation for why we had been kept apart for so long. it was because they knew we were both spies that infiltrated their operation and they had to keep us separate because they couldn't risk communications between us. that was the closest he had ever sounded to being sane. I _was _an infiltration. I _was_ a spy. I was an observer and I was taking notes.

I was leading on My psychiatrist, making him think he was making progress with Me.

I was charming the nurses and making them think the incident back at the hospital was a mistake. that I had been provoked to act that way, and none of it was My fault.

danny and I usually chatted quietly while he insisted we engage in games of chess. he said playing chess was a front so we could discuss the goings-on. danny had confided in Me that he never took his medication if he could help it. the meds affected his clarity (HA!) of mind, making his thoughts foggy and slow.

a lot of times he just mumbled to himself, but sometimes his focus was at its optimum and he glared at Me with sharp, green eyes as he talked. he must have been in his early thirties. he was thin and bony with messy black hair.

why he chose to attach himself to Me, I wasn't sure, but that might have been because I was the only one who would listen to what he had to say. while he was indeed severely paranoid, sometimes even studying Me with suspicion, he often read into things far more than he needed to. everything the nurses did was pre-meditated in order to trip him up, to entrap him. doctor appointments turned into torture sessions - never mind that he was the reason he was restrained and put in a padded cell for a couple of hours. everyone was against him, possibly even Me.

but he trusted Me more than the other patients.

after several days in the lounge, My curiosity had been drawn to a peculiar young woman who always sat in one place, on the couch, and stared out the window for hours. she had thin, straight, dirty blonde hair, and a downcast face. I had never been near her, but she had a habit of tugging on her sleeves to cover her skin.

one day, while danny wasn't there, I was watching tv, sitting splayed in a bean chair on the floor. well, I wasn't _really _watching, I was just thinking. one particular newscast caught My attention, something about a new tonnelly plant management team. someone had risen to the occasion and pledged a private fund to help properly seal and cover the toxic sludge pits. however, at a public announcement stating this new goal, live footage showed a tenacious and gorgeous red-headed woman who was leading a group of other female protestors. footage had been captured as they destroyed concession stands and destroyed reporters' cameras. I sat up with interest and saw they were protesting the management because there were rare plant species present in the wake of the toxicity. brief flashes of footage showed them eventually being attacked with tear gas and most of them were arrested.

_environmentalists, who needs 'em?_ I was chuckling out loud to Myself, and that girl who always sat on the couch happened to snap out of her thoughts and looked at Me, then the tv. I gave her an unwavering stare, chewing the inside of My mouth. blushing slightly, she immediately looked away and tugged her sleeves over her hands. she was wearing oversized arkham scrubs, with full-length sleeves.

her behavior was reminiscent of teresa, and I hadn't thought about her in days. I wondered how she was faring, if she had finally reached her breaking point.

she could feel Me watching her, but didn't look at Me again.

I glanced around, checking to see if nurses were watching Me. I had been on My best behavior all this time. they had no reason to be concerned if I moved from My spot.

so I did. I joined the girl on the couch and followed her gaze out the window. she was watching a group of three ladies, who were sitting together on the grass. they were talking, picking at the grass. they didn't look like they belonged at arkham to Me, they looked perfectly normal. but that's the thing with mental illness - you never know how sick someone is from the outside. I mean, take a look at Me. I look pretty sick on the outside too. but... I knew My inside would never match My outside. inside I was blacker, darker, sicker. and I was fine with it. that was _Me._ and I was happy with _Me_.

"you know those ladies?" I asked finally, giving her a sidelong glance.

after a lot of hesitation, she nodded. 'they're talking about me.'

"you can read lips?"

she tugged her sleeves again and nodded. she bunched up the ends of her shirt's sleeves in her fists.

"What are they saying about you?"

she shifted uncomfortably, and didn't answer. 'just go away, okay? i just want to be left alone.'

"If you want to be alone, why are you in the lounge?"

'they make Me come here everyday,' she replied wistfully, looking like she wanted to disappear into the couch.

"Why?"

'just go away.'

"I just wanna be friends."

finally she looked at Me. her eyes darted over My scars. 'why?' she demanded. her voice wasn't stern or determined, but slightly wavering and a little fearful. she didn't believe Me.

she had hazel eyes and a small, sharp nose. freckles dotted her face and her lips were plump and heart-shaped. judging by her skin, she was in her mid-twenties. she was definitely cute. "I think you're pretty," I baited.

she didn't bite. she _really_ didn't believe that. she just stood up and took the spot I had used while watching tv.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

the next couple of days at the lounge, she just left as soon as she saw Me. at least danny was there to keep Me company. patrick was there too, but he was reading. well, not really. he was keeping a jealous eye on Me.

that was in the morning. after lunch, I was led to My session with that fat doctor. I actually didn't know his name yet. _ac_tually, I didn't care.

but to My amusement, it wasn't him. it was that pompous guy with the blue eyes. I gave a small laugh.

he was wearing an ugly brown suit with a blue tie that..."y'know, that tie _really_ brings out your eyes," I remarked mockingly. it was true, anyone else would have said it as a compliment. I just turned a positive into a negative. it was so easy.

he had his hands steepled, his initial calm unthwarted. 'should I expect any...problems from You?'

I sat down and leaned back in My comfortable armchair. pulled an ankle onto My knee, I rested My elbows on the chair. "That all depends."

'on what?'

I looked around the room and saw his suitcase, the same one from the day I had met him. "Gonna gas Me again?"

he gave his smug smile for the first time. 'no.'

"So what _are_ you gonna do?" he had _some_thing up his sleeve, I was sure.

'well, You already know i'm a psychiatrist, but I also work in the field of psychopharmacology. and since You've displayed the fascinating ability to resist medication, I have prepared doses to see if any are effective.'

"Hmmm." well, I was definitely curious to see how much medication I could resist. this session might not be a complete waste of My time as it usually is. it would be good to know how far My limits were, if I had any.

'do You have any questions before we get started?'

I leaned forward. "What types of drugs are they?"

'psychoactive drugs.'

I glanced at the two guards that usually stood there. there they were, stoic as ever. but there was one thing different about this room. there were two tables topped with fancy lamps on either side of the door. next to one of the lamps was a strait-jacket.

"As in... antidepressants?"

'some of them. there are others.'

as I mulled it over, he picked the briefcase off the floor and set it down on the broad coffee table with a gentle clatter. 'before we get started, however, there is something You need to sign.'

I licked My lips quickly and raised an eyebrow in question.

he opened the briefcase and pulled out a couple of sheets of stapled paper. 'it's a consent form.'

I glanced at it, leaned forward, and picked it up. _I blankity-blank do state that I am consenting to medical intervention willfully without coercion--_"Oh-_kay_, that's enough of that," I tossed the papers back onto the table. "Let Me borrow that later when I'm trying to get some rest. As for the, uh, matter at _hand_--," I gestured to the briefcase, "--I'd like it if we could just... keep all this off the record."

Crane smiled broadly. 'that would be perfect.'

"Now, I just have one question though. What if something was to... happen to Me?"

'You mean as in, physiological effects?'

"If by _that _you mean, death? Uh, yeah. _That_."

crane cleared his throat and frowned, studying Me carefully. 'does that frighten You?'

I remembered one of his questions on the day we met. _tell me, what are You afraid of? _

no, death didn't frighten Me. in fact, I might even enjoy it. I wouldn't mind experiencing it. and maybe, if I liked it, and if I could, I'd risk My neck over and over because it's so much fun! ...but not right now. I wasn't ready for it. "I already told you, I'm afraid of nothing."

'everyone fears something. since You've been out of the hospital, have You experienced any fear?'

the closest I had come to feeling fear was when I felt that deja vu while I was stretching My mouth out. and even _that _wasn't even fear. it was just dread. dread is more akin to apprehension. I hadn't been scared. and even that feeling, I didn't know why I felt it. it was like I was remembering something, but not really. I couldn't remember what had happened. I was just feeling what I felt at the time. maybe it was what I felt when My mouth was getting torn open. "No, I haven't felt any fear."

'is there anything You can think of that would cause You to feel afraid?'

"Nope."

crane fixed his glasses. 'we'll get to that later. right now i'd like to administer the first dose. if You don't mind, i'd like to take some notes.'

"Whatever." I didn't say anything about him getting to _keep_ those notes. actually, I hadn't wanted to sign the consent because I planned to eventually delete all information about Me in the hospital computers. they knew My real name. I mean, My _old_ real name. and owens had let Me know that I had a police file too. that might be harder to get rid of than an old hospital file, but it had to be done. I couldn't have My old life affecting My new one. I couldn't have people getting curious and digging up stuff about Me. no way! I could just imagine the type of damage that could cause to My _title_. _Joker, also known as jack napier_--_NOPE_! on the other hand... _Joker has no other known aliases­­­--_Perfect.

he had the drug in a small bottle marked with a handmade label. he used a brand new syringe from a plastic packaging and turning the bottle upsidedown, stuck the needle in from the bottom. when he had readied the syringe he clipped it back closed and came over next to Me. setting My arm straight, he found a vein - which wasn't that hard to do, considering how pale My skin was. he picked up the syringe again, swabbed the spot with an alcohol-soaked piece of gauze, and stuck Me smoothly with the needle.

as I had expected, nothing happened. not right away, not after ten, fifteen, or even thirty minutes. crane didn't look annoyed or upset. he just seriously wrote down notes in a hardcovered notebook. while we waited, he briefly acted the part of a psychiatrist. mostly though, he was just really eager to learn if I felt any effect from the meds. every few minutes he'd say, 'do You feel anything?' 'how do You feel now?' 'now?'

by the time the session was done, almost another hour later, he had stuck Me with the needle three more times in the same spot. other than that area of My arm being a little sore, I felt nothing.

but the session was over and crane had to let Me leave. there were other patients at arkham after all.

when I walked out, he didn't look too happy at the results. he had certainly been expecting some sort of effect.

I wondered if he'd be there during the next session. time spent with him was _much_ more interesting than that other guy.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

_Hi everyone, hope you liked this chapter. It was a little hard to get it written. Anyway, please don't forget to vote at my poll. I'd like to know which story to start next. Help me out, please?_


	85. you know you're going to read it anyway

_For everyone that asked, no that girl isn't Harley. I love the original Harley, I think she's perfect. I don't think I'm going to add her into this story, I figure Joker meets her after The Dark Knight, when he's back in Arkham. Again. Also, I was planning something with all three other patients he had met, Danny, Patrick and that girl, I was going to call her Brittany. But as I was writing this chapter, well, Joker 'decided' he wanted to do something else. So I let him. He might choose to come back again later on. I don't know. It worked out pretty well this way I think. You just can't force the plotlines sometimes. They unfold on their own. It's more fun that way anyway. _

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 85 - you know you're going to read it anyway.

none of it worked. I could see crane getting frustrated. he was a perfectionist. and when things didn't go his way, he got _mad_. about the seventh or eighth session with him, about another month or so later, he was the scruffiest I had ever seen him. he wasn't even wearing a tie. his shirt wasn't ironed. his hair wasn't combed and his eyes were ringed with gray. but his focus was there. it was more acute than ever, his eyes bright and shining. I knew all of it wasn't just focus and determination. a lot of it was anger at failure.

as I watched him, a smile spreading across My face, he came over and swiped the spot angrily with the alcohol swab, and stabbed Me with the needle. I laughed at him during that session. bold and brave, just right in his face, while he was sticking Me with the needle.

let Me tell you, he _really_ didn't like that. he froze and looked up at Me. I don't think I've seen anyone _that _mad. I thought he was going to hit Me. that just made Me laugh harder. I threw My head back into the chair and couldn't contain it. it felt great. I was moving around too much, and he carelessly pulled the needle out of My skin, tearing it. blood leaked out and down My arm in a bright red strip.

'stop it,' he ordered, his voice trembling with mounting fury.

I waved My hand at him, indicating I couldn't. it was too funny.

the guards moved closer, sensing a fight.

crane spun around viciously on them. 'get out!' he snarled.

'doctor crane--'

'i said _get OUT!' _

My laughter grew higher. I slapped the arm of the chair and bounced in the chair. this was so much _fun!_

the guards looked highly agitated. clearly doctors didn't usually get like this. patients did, but not doctors. they had no choice but to grab crane as he started to push them out of the door, but when they touched him, crane turned away and tugged something out of his briefcase. it was a small canister, and looked like mace. My laughter stopped just long enough to see what on earth he was _do_ing. he was going to mace his own guards?

the guards didn't hesitate anymore. they jumped forward, keen to grab the canister before crane sprayed, but it was too late. actually, crane used that thing with such efficiency I had to wonder how often he practiced. it was mere seconds from when he snatched it out to the point of use.

when he sprayed, it was a flat, wide-ranged mist, getting both the guards at the same time. they coughed and stumbled back, and crane used the opportunity to dive into his briefcase again and...he pulled out that ridiculous looking sack-mask. he tugged it on quickly and as I watched on, the guards started _screeeaaaaaaam_ing.

My laughter was gone now, faded into intense curiosity and amazement. _what _was _that stuff? _"What _is_ that stuff?"

'i _told _you to get out!' crane stalked closer, his body posture menacing, hands balled into fists, shoulders tensed. the guards screamed in terror at him, their faces moist with the spray, their eyes wide and horrified. clearly, they weren't even thinking. they were so afraid.

I stood up slowly, and took a quick look into crane's briefcase. I saw several neatly arranged bottles of liquid drugs, another canister, and several packaged needles. I grabbed the best thing. the canister. it was small and fit easily under My left armpit, under My arkham shirt. I just couldn't lift My arm up for a while.

one of the guards started shaking and hyperventilating. soon his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he passed out. about a minute later, the same thing happened to the other guard. crane had been enthralled the whole time. I knew he was, just by the way he stood there, still and staring. I couldn't see his face, but I knew their fear was fascinating to him.

I slowly sat back down like I hadn't moved at all. crane had no idea. but if he was as much of a perfectionist as I thought, then all he had to do was look into his briefcase to notice the other canister was gone.

I cleared My throat politely, a hand curled over My mouth. "Is the session over?"

he didn't move for a moment, then he slowly turned and looked at Me over his shoulder, like seeing Me for the first time ever. I could barely see his eyes. how he managed to see, I didn't know. why didn't he get a better mask?

'get out,' he said finally, wearily. he jerked a thumb towards the door. 'our sessions are over.'

"Are you...giving _up_?"

he walked back towards the briefcase, pulled the sack-mask off and tossed it in. then he leaned down, and pulled out a couple of new syringes and a smaller bottle of medication. he measured careful doses into each syringe, then replaced the bottle into his briefcase. he was bent down, and as he started to straighten up, he stopped and frowned. he moved the mask aside as his eyes searched the briefcase. he dropped the syringe on the table and turned his full attention to the briefcase's contents. his face flushed with worry. then he blinked and looked up at Me.

I bobbed My head and raised My eyebrows. "What?"

he straightened up, and for several moments he stared at Me. he knew. he knew I had it. I quirked My eyebrows up, taunting him. My tongue darted out over My smiling lips.

he jumped into motion, going straight for the mask. I moved My left arm up a bit, and the canister rolled right out under My shirt. I caught it with My right hand, and shoved crane back, away from the coffee table where the briefcase lay. he had the mask in his hand as he fell back, into his chair, and the chair tilted back and fell over. crane scrambled to get up, kicking his legs frantically. in the process he kicked over the briefcase, knocking it to the floor.

I hopped up onto the coffee table and jumped down right on top of him, standing with My legs parted, one on either side of the fallen armchair. he gave up trying to get up and tried to tug the mask on. but I gave a deep laugh, snatched the mask away and hit him right in the face with his own poison. he gave a cry and turned his face away, eyes squeezed shut. he pressed his hand over his nose and mouth, and I understood. the stuff had to be _breathed_ in.

"No, no no no no, _no,_" I scolded. I moved over to the side and tried to pry his hand away. he fought hard, but the poor wimp was no match for Me. I stomped down on his face, on his hand, and he gave a cry of pain. I had kicked down a little _too_ hard. "Oops," I apologized. his nose was bleeding. but he was also breathing hard. crane rolled over to the side and his legs went over the arm of the chair. he was trying to run.

I followed him as he stumbled away, holding his nose. blood dripped on the floor as he went. his mask was forgotten. I couldn't let him get away. I grabbed a fistful of his messy brown hair and yanked his head back. he moaned in pain and staggered back, going down onto his knees. tilting his head all the way back, I sprayed the stuff right into his face again, and by this time he was panting so hard he had no choice but the breathe it in. 'nooo...' he groaned as I released him.

okay, it was time to go.

I stepped over the guards' unconscious bodies as I heard crane start to scream in fear.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

walking in a rush, I wiped My blood away and licked it up, trying to remove all traces of it. it was already drying up.

normally, I would be escorted back to the men's ward by the two guards. so it looked kind of strange if I was all by Myself. from memory, I snuck around the hallways to one of the employees only rooms I could remember. the first one I found was a door that led to two doors, a men's, and a women's locker room. obviously they were for hospital custodian workers. I turned

towards the men's locker room and peeked in. I heard a shower running, and some footsteps. I licked the web of skin between My thumb and index finger, cleaning away more dried blood. in My right hand was the canister of crane's poisonous spray.

I heard another shower turn on, and then I heard no more footsteps. quickly stepping in, I searched for a set of clothes. I found one, a pair of faded blue jeans, and a -shirt and sweatshirt. I grabbed everything, including the guy's shoes and socks, and backpack, and stepped into another empty shower. tossing crane's canister in the backpack, I dressed as quickly as I could in there. slinging the backpack over My shoulder, I started to leave the shower stall. then I saw the other guy's clothes and saw a black cap with a metal skull on it, ringed with metal spikes. I took it, then searched his pants for his wallet, and left the locker room.

I pulled the cap low over My face, and tucked My longish hair behind My ears. then I reached over My shoulder and tugged the hood of the sweatshirt over My head, hiding My face in shadows.

I just followed the signs, and eventually I walked out into the employees parking lot. digging into the pockets - now My pockets - I found a set of car keys with a car remote. I searched around the large parking lot in the cloudy afternoon. it looked like it was going to start raining. I pressed the button for the alarm, and heard it beep twice somewhere far off. I pressed the button a couple of more times and soon I found the car.

scooting around the front, I flung open the door, and jumped in. I didn't remember ever having driven a car, but easily I backed it out of the parking spot and out of the arkham grounds.

as I pulled out onto the street, I heard the low rumble of thunder.

minutes of driving later, fat rain drops splattered against the windshield. after a short while, the rain started pouring down, and the skies darkened. lightning flashed violently and thunder shook the earth. I pulled into a parking lot as the rain noisily pelted the car, and I searched glove compartment for maps or anything of help. I found a couple of useful things. a flashlight. some potato chips. a couple of tools.

the backpack..._let's see_...eaten lunch. change of clothes. some personal hygiene stuff.

I tossed the useless personal items in the back seat and stuffed the chips and flashlight, and the tools too, into the backpack. I raised My butt off the seat and pulled out the wallet. I smiled. about two-hundred dollars worth of cash. I studied the id. dude didn't look like Me. from the other back pocket, I pulled out the other guy's wallet. now, he looked more like I did, but with My pale skin I didn't think it could really pass for Me. who needs id anyway? I checked this guy's cash. not too much. about forty dollars. I pocketed all of it. I took the credit cards too, but I wasn't going to use them. I'd have to find someone else to use it for Me. I couldn't be caught on camera using someone else's credit card in some store.

I drove around a little bit in the rain, searching for a bookstore or newsstand where I could get someone to buy Me a map of--wait, where the hell was I? where did teresa say arkham was? I checked the two guys' id, and both their addresses were marked as gotham city. but the hospital I had been in was bludhaven. I think I remembered teresa saying arkham was in gotham. to be on the safe side, I'd have to buy a map for both cities.

after a while, I found a beat up old building that looked like a convenience store. I parked next to the handicapped spot and waited for someone to either go towards the entrance or walk out. I sat with My windows up, low and slouched in the seat. after a while, a group of teenagers made a run for the entrance, laughing in the rain. I waited for them to come out of the building, and by the time they did, the rain had slowed to almost nothing. they brought out sodas and snacks in their hands.

since it wasn't raining anymore, I stepped out of the car and stared at them to catch their gazes. I drew their attention easily. they were two boys and three girls. I beckoned with a finger, a smile playing on My face. the girls looked at each other and one of them looked a little disgusted. the two boys also exchanged glances and one of them nodded up once as he came over. 'what's up, Man?'

"I was..._won_dering if you could do Me a _fa_vor," I said slowly and quietly. I pushed My voice against My throat, making it sound hollow. not even really like My own, which was deeper and smoother.

he was joined by the other guy. both of them studied My scars but said nothing about them.

I pointed at the first one that approached Me. "you, I want you to go inside and find out if they have maps of gotham and bludhaven. if they do, buy Me both and I'll pay You double for them. hundred percent profit. deal?"

they exchanged glances, then the girls called out, 'come on, let's go!' then another one said, a bit more quietly, 'stop talking to that weirdo.' the third girl slapped her friend playfully and all of them laughed. 'i can't believe you just said that...'

"What do you say, young man? Or is this job too _hard _for you?"

he shrugged. 'i'll do it, i don't care. You better pay me though.'

nodding, I dug into My back pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill. "This should be enough. Go get 'em."

he took the money, disappeared and came back after a while, and he had a small black bag. I looked at him, took the bag and looked inside. two fresh, unopened maps, gotham city and bludhaven. each was four dollars. "Good job." I nodded. I pulled out another ten, and handed it to him. "I'm a man of My word. See?"

I glanced at the girls and gave a small chuckle. "ladies," I said mockingly and got back into the driver's seat. before I rolled the window up, I said, "gentlemen." I pulled out of the small parking lot and pulled into another one several blocks away. the rain started up again, and it seemed to be getting dark fast. the thunderstorm wasn't going to stop any time soon. I tugged the bag of chips out of the backpack and started munching on them as I checked the intersection I was parked at, then checked for the streets in the gotham map. yup, I was in gotham city. I spread the map over the steering wheel and studied it while I ate. then something caught My eyes. tonnelly drive. I followed the long, long, _long_ highway along the map, and found it. yup, tonnelly treatment plant. nearby, tonnelly acres. I reached into the glove compartment and picked up a pen I had seen earlier. I scratched out tonnelly acres, and wrote, ..._TOXIC ...ACRES_.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

_If you didn't vote at my poll yet, please do. It's on my profile page. Thank you to everyone who voted to tell me what story I should write next. _


	86. My new home

chapter 86 - My new home

I drove all the way to toxic acres, which took Me a while because I got lost. then I ran out of gas, because I wasn't even paying attention. I had to walk three miles in the rain to get a plastic gallon of gasoline and then walk three miles _back_. I was soaked completely through, My skin was all wrinkly. it was raining forever.

shivering slightly, I filled the tank with the gasoline I'd bought, and then drove to the same gas station and filled it up. while I was there, I used the men's room to change into the other set of clothes.

so by the time I reached toxic acres, it was completely dark. this part of town didn't even have street lights. the whole of tonnelly drive was completely straight, and had no lights whatsoever. if the road was curved people could have easily driven off.

toxic acres was - had been - a gated community for rich people. there were high brick walls coated with vines and the gate was bent out of shape. I couldn't drive the car in, so I left it parked and locked where it was. later I'd take it to some spot and leave it for someone to find.

slinging the backpack over My shoulder, I stepped out of the car. I could smell a weak chemical odor, but it didn't seem to be coming from the suburbs, but on the light breeze from the north. according to the map, tonnelly treatment plant was located there. if I continued along the road, I would reach there eventually.

before going into toxic acres though, I removed the license plates from the car and tossed them into the trunk. later I'd find another car and switch the plates. but this place was pretty empty. I hadn't seen even one car pass Me in either direction in the thirty minutes that I had been on tonnelly drive. I figured the car wasn't going to get towed and cited for not having plates. if by some stroke of _un_luck, someone happened to tow the car, they wouldn't find the plates right away and it would take them a while to figure out who the owner was. they'd have to go through dmv registration database and figure it out from there. or they could wait for the guy in the shower to report his car stolen.

I shook the fence a little bit to see if it was strong enough to hold My weight. it clanged together, the sound hollow and echoing in the quiet, humid night. yeah, it would hold.

I climbed it and jumped down on the other side, muddy water splashing up. the rain had stopped for now. hopefully it would start up again and My footprints would be covered. it wasn't such a big deal anyway, since it wasn't like people came through here all the time.

now what had teresa said about this place? the main reason I had even come here was because she had said no one lives here anymore. people are scared of coming here, afraid of being poisoned by the chemical wastes. I wasn't, because I was immune to everything. after all those sessions with crane, I had started wondering if _any_thing would ever have an effect on Me. well, there was only one way to find out. experimentation on self. simple, to the point, all consequences and rewards were Mine alone.

teresa was right. this place was a ghost town. I pulled the flashlight out and waved the beam around. this place was _huge_. it wasn't just a housing neighborhood. it was a little town of it's own. the houses appeared to be from around the seventies, with ugly, earthy shades, and red bricks. roofs had shingles missing, doors were broken down, boarded up, dead leaves piled up in parched yards. grass grew through the asphalt, through cracks in the sidewalk. tree roots eroded through the sidewalk. streets lamps stood dark like dead sentinels. vines grew right through the concrete and wrapped their arms over the old metal. glass and garbage littered the streets, glimmering under My flashlight through patches of rich green grass.

I frowned to Myself. this place had too many..._leaves_. as I stepped deeper in, I noticed a couple of houses had trees growing from within them. branches had fought through windows, through the door, through the roof. _is that normal? _

after walking a while, I reached a huge cul de sac, several yards in diameter. I saw a park on My right. I saw a rusted up, damaged jungle gym, both swings hanging by only one chain, dripping rain onto the overgrown grass. I stepped forward swinging the beam before Me. I wasn't sure what the hell was up with this place, but vegetation seemed to be thriving. the deeper inside I went, the more the place started looking like a jungle. the trees grew thicker here, the ground wasn't dirt or concrete, but lush green moss. _okay that's _not_ normal. _

I remembered that teresa had said nothing was wrong with farmers' crops. just that they were toxic. was it possible that the poisons _helped _the plants grow? made them stronger?

the center of the cul de sac was full of trees, practically impermeable without a machete. I walked around it, along the patches of the remaining, broken concrete, pieces of what used to be the road.

then I reached a pool of water, surrounded by rich green vegetation. I stopped. I almost expected a waterfall and dragonflies to flit by. it was like something out of a south american jungle. then I knew why it looked like that. there were giant tropical flowers, blood red, electric blue, banana yellow. color ex_plo_sion... venus fly traps, their mouths open for prey. the leaves were huge and veined, glossy and healthy.

I walked closer, and noticed that the pool was actually a swimming pool. shining the light down on the water, I noticed it was covered with a layer of algae. greenish tiles edged the pool, and I could see the ladders that led into the water.

I waved the beam deeper into the trees, and I could see no more houses. just trees. hanging vines.

there was no way I could go further without something to cut the vines. I walked around a little bit, just to make sure, but after searching for a way through, I shook My head to Myself. no way. it would be a waste of energy anyway. I had more important things to do. the most important thing was to find someone to help Me delete hospital records. and police records.

there was ample housing around here, but I decided to find a place _away_ from all the trees. and I could have sworn something moved in the bushes as I was leaving the area. maybe it was just some critter. but as I thought that, something didn't feel right. this whole forest thing didn't feel right.

then I had it. I knew why. there were _no_ critters. no squirrels, birds, snakes, racoons, badgers, spiders, bugs, frogs, flies..._nothing_. didn't plants need bugs? what about those venus fly traps? didn't they need food?

I walked away from the forestry, and eventually made My way back to the playground. on the side opposite the playground, was a short street. there were still an abnormal amount of trees, but nothing that looked particularly tropical to Me.

weaving through them, I looked around at the buildings. these weren't houses, but old stores.

one looked like a hot dog stand. another was a small convenience store. another, a hardware store. a laundromat. and... an arcade. all of them were boarded up, but I walked right into the hardware store. best place to find something of use.

everything was boarded up. one of the tools I'd found in the dude's car was a pair of pliers. I dug around in the backpack for it, holding the flashlight in My mouth. as I did, the rain started up again, and within seconds it was pouring. within moments I was completely soaked again. I snatched the light out of the My mouth. "Come on!" I yelled at the sky.

shuddering a little in the cold rain, I got to work, doing My best not to waste the flashlight batteries. I hacked with the tip of the pliers at the nails hammered jaggedly into the planks of wood. splinters flew off, and let Me grip the nailhead with the pliers and twist it out. eventually, after a surprisingly _long_ time, I had the door free, and a pile of broken planks to the side.

picking up the flashlight from where I had placed it, I shone the beam out in front of Me. the store had warped floorboards - plants growing through them, what a surprise - and very cramped aisles.

well, it was what anyone would expect of a hardware store. screws, nuts and bolts of all sizes, locks, hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers. I picked out a nice hammer, an adjustable wrench and a few screwdrivers.

and then...and then I came to the aisle with all the chemicals. ammonia, terpentine, antifreeze, bleach, drain cleaner, _pes_ticides, _weed _killers _(they might come in handy)_...and a whole bunch of chemical substances arranged in alphabetical order. I _knew _this would be the best place.

the only problem was that some of these things may have spoiled over all the years. chemicals have a way of separating and losing potency. some chemicals, like acetone, evaporate _very _quickly. _yup_. I was shaking around the bottles of acetone. all gone. empty bottles.

I wandered around a little bit, finding a treasure trove of explosive-making ingredients. I thought it was amusing that I remembered how to make explosives using boiled battery acid and sodium bicarbonate, but I just couldn't remember _where_ I had used that before. I was amazed at the variety of harmful substances here, but I guess thirty years ago, the information on how to make bombs wasn't so readily available. nowadays, if a store that sold this many chemicals ever had a person who picked up a certain combination of chemicals, the store would immediately alert the authorities. I bet they learned _that_ lesson the hard way. a guy buys the three components of trotyl, also known as tnt, and they don't do a thing about it. _he's not really going to make tnt with all the ingredients used to make...tnt, is he? _

I wandered around a while longer, seeing the back storage room, and then some stairs leading up into living quarters. it was a large place to live for just one person. I saw that the furniture was covered with white sheets - now turned gray with dust - and the wallpaper was very faded and peeling. I didn't see any reason why I couldn't stay in this place. I walked around, My footsteps hollow and thunking down with each step. the floor was covered with a thick layer of dust, and I picked it up with My wet shoes as I walked around. there was no electricity, no running water. I squeaked the taps open and not one drop leaked out.

there were three bedrooms.

in one of the bedroom, I saw a bunkbed and a chest of drawers. nothing was on the floor except dust. I removed the sheet that covered the chest and opened up the top drawer. it had a framed photo. there was no dust in here.

so, two boys lived here, and they shared the bunkbed. the boys were twins. and everything was left behind.

the parents' bedroom had a small safe, open and empty, and a couple of suitcases were lying on the floor, like they had considered using them, but decided not to. the queen-sized bed was made and covered with a sheet, just like everything else. one day they expected to return.

the last bedroom was a girl's. she also had a photo or two in her own chest of drawers, and she was a teenager. but she looked like she was very sick, her head was bald and she had no eyebrows. in one corner of the room were a couple of ceramic heads, bald, with no wigs. under her collection of framed photos were two wigs, faded with age. I glanced up, and noticed that there was another sheet covering something upright that was above the chest of drawers.

I reached out with My left hand and peeled the sheet back. dust flew up like a sandstorm. a flash of light leered back at Me. the beam from My flashlight. I moved it a little out of the way and saw Myself standing there in the dark. I breathed in the dust and started coughing.

this place was unbelievably dusty. it needed some serious cleaning. not right now, though, later.

it was okay to live here for now, at least for the night. the door downstairs was still okay. the lock had corroded over time though. after breaking off the planks of wood the door had just swung open. I'd have to fix that lock, and maybe set it with a couple of tripwires or something, and this place would be...home.


	87. I hate plants!

chapter 87 - I hate plants!

cleaning turned out to be no easy feat. the hardware store had brooms for sale from years ago, and cleaning sprays that had half-dissipated over the years. there were no towels downstairs, but there were unused towels upstairs. soon all of them were soiled with dust. they spread as much dust as they picked up. after breathing in about a pound of dust, I decided I had to wrap something over My nose and mouth before I breathed in anymore.

I spent almost a whole day cleaning out the majority of dust. but the next most important thing I had to do was find a disguise. before people and cops started looking for someone like Me. before the news reached the press that someone had escaped from arkham. later that day, I tried on the girl's wigs. one was straight brown hair, and the other, straight blond hair. the wigs were too small for My head. I dug around the rest of the house, finding nothing of use, nothing that would make Me blend in easily. the thing making it hardest for Me was the fact that I had the scars. and My abnormally pale skin. I had no choice but to hide My face under a hood and cap like I had before. and avoid getting too close to anyone.

since My clothes were dry from the previous day, I put them on and went out to the entrance of toxic acres. but I couldn't get too close to the damaged gates because there were people there. looking in, and talking. I went around some old houses, and drew close enough to the wall that enclosed the acres. '...about one week. it's already been delayed for so long because of that crazy bitch. dr. isley.'

'i say we just track her down and..._bang._'

the other one laughed. 'yeah who's going to save her? those cupcakes she's got following her around?'

'or her plants?'

they both laughed at that one. after their laughter faded away, they grew a little serious. 'well, let Me give a call to the police department about this car. it doesn't look like it's been here for long.'

I stiffened at the words. I couldn't let them call the cops! I rushed out into their sight. both of their eyes grew wide in surprise. 'hey, You shouldn't be in there.'

I had crane's canister in My hooded jacket's pocket. I climbed over the fence and jumped down on the other side. "Actually, I can."

'You most certainly can_not_. this is city property.'

'how long have You been here?' the other one demanded.

I walked closer, My right hand closing in on the canister. "Oh, just about a day. I found this great place. Would you like to see?"

they frowned at Me. 'You can't stay here,' one of them said, shaking his head slightly. 'You're going to have to leave. by the end of the day. I didn't think anyone would be crazy enough to live here.'

I shook My head, and said calmly, "I'm not crazy." without another moment's pause, I snatched out the canister and sprayed the nearest one in his face. he gave a gasp of surprise and staggered back. I took two steps and the mist flew into the other guy's face. within moments both of them were screaming, gasping for air.

there was no one around to hear their screams. their voices echoed across the field on the opposite side of the street.

soon they started to hyperventilate just like the guards and passed out. now I had _two _cars to hide.

I leaned down and checked their pulses. still alive. I dragged both of them into the car seats, one in the back and one in the front. then I tried to find a way to open the gates. the lower parts were wedged into the ground, and I spent many minutes digging around them to leave a groove in the dirt for them to open into. finally, My hands covered with moist soil from the night before, I stood back up and drove the car inside, all the way to the hardware store. then I drove _their _car all the way to the hardware store, to the end of the street.

finally, I went into the store and brought out some old nylon rope. the duct tape was all dried out from age. it would never stick again. I tied and gagged them with the rope. where was I going to put them? I couldn't leave them in the hardware store. if they woke up they could use whatever sharp object was around to cut free.

in the end, I drove around the tree-filled cul de sac and right onto the playground. there I dragged them out, and tied both of them to the swing pole. they'd just stay here for a while. I checked their pockets before leaving. I collected a nice wad of cash from one and a fat money clip from the other.

so I had one week to sabotage whatever they were planning to do. I had to wait until they woke up to find out what they were going to do. and all those construction vehicles I'd seen earlier, well, they had to be destroyed. I couldn't let them get any of their work done. and dr. isley... that must have been the redhead's name. as far as I knew, she was the only one opposed to the destruction of this place besides Me. that much was clear from the newscast. if the city was getting ready to fix up tonnelly treatment plant, it was only a matter of time before it destroyed toxic acres.

taking the license plates out, and screwing them back on, I drove back into the city in search of a disguise. then, after a little while in a department store, I realized I didn't need a disguise, just a concealer. I found several pale shades of concealer and women's foundation. at the men's department, I also picked up couple of more hooded sweatshirts, with pockets and large hoods. finally I picked up battery powered lamps and cans of soda and bottles of water. the lady at the cash register looked a little confused that a man would buy women's make up, but she said nothing.

I lugged all the stuff back to the car. by that time, it was dark outside. it was easy for Me to switch the plates with another similar looking car. so I did, and drove back to toxic acres, all the way to the playground. no sense leaving the car outside where someone could see it. I locked the gates back too so it would look like no one had touched it.

when I reached the playground I walked over to the swings. but when I got close, I stopped in midstride. "What the--?" I looked around the area but I couldn't find them.

walking closer, I saw the nylon ropes still on the ground, the ends severed.

the men were gone.

I didn't have much time to look around now, but I had to. what if they had run away? what if they'd escaped? I didn't see how that was possible, I mean, it was nylon rope. that's not something that a person can easily cut through, not unless they had a knife. and these men weren't the kind to carry knives, I knew it. I had searched them.

I ran back to the car and snatched the flashlight from the glove compartment. I checked the ropes to see how they were severed. very poorly, like with a piece of glass or a very dull knife. the end was pitifully frayed, the worst cut imaginable. almost like an animal gnawed it with its teeth. speaking of which...that wasn't entirely impossible. maybe there was some animal around here. some sick beast gone crazy from the poisons. it wasn't impossible. I mean, teresa said that humans had all grown very sick from it. still, I bent down and checked the swing poles. while they were so rusted up that there was not a spot of paint left on it, there was no way a rope that thick could be cut using the rust. and besides, there was no rust on the rope at the ends. no, something else had come along and cut them free.

I moved the beam around carefully on the ground, but I didn't see any blood. if a creature had grabbed them, then there would probably be a blood trail. so, most likely, they had been taken away by other people. maybe it was that dr. isley they were talking about. I hadn't looked around this place that much, but then again, the chances of someone else living here wasn't that slim. but who else could live here but Me? I was resistant to the poisons, most likely. anyone else would just get sick, like that bald girl who'd lived upstairs. I didn't even see drug addicts around here, and I _knew_ those guys wouldn't pass up a free place to squat, unless the conditions were really dangerous, like here. only I was immune. that's why I was here. see, I'm not crazy.

I considered My options. I really should go search around for those idiots. but it was dark. I stood there rooted to the spot for more minutes than I care to remember. anyway, after I was done thinking, I still couldn't decide.

but as I walked past the car, I made a decision. I had to go look for them right away. if they had somehow escaped on their own, I had to stop them. I had no idea how big toxic acres was. I checked out the map in My car, and it didn't really help much, just showed a large colored patch.

I pulled the battery powered lamp from a shopping back in the backseat, and the batteries. I popped open the case and stuck the batteries in there, and turned it on as I closed it back. The light was so bright it was like the sun blinding My eyes.

I stepped out of the car, with no idea where I was going at first, because I really couldn't see. I shut the door and rubbed My eyes. then as My vision returned, I headed back towards the entrance in search of footprints. I found none. even Mine were washed away from the day before. so I turned back around and headed towards the thick trees. I wasn't sure how far those trees grew, but I knew it would be impossible for those two men to get through those trees. any attempt would either get them lost, stuck, or turning back in vain.

the lamp helped a lot, brightening up a big area as I walked along. again, I saw no animals, or heard any crickets. It was completely quiet, except for the occasional rustle of leaves or branches. it struck Me again how strange that was.

as I drew nearer to the trees, and the old swimming pool, I took a left, walking along the edge of the most dense parts, trying to find footsteps or anything. I didn't find anything. not even trampled grass or a broken twig. finally, as I went on for about twenty minutes, I came up to a brick wall. one edge of toxic acres. looking up over the tall brick wall, I noticed that some vines grew up and then disappeared over the crest.

no way through here. I turned back. soon I was back at the pool. but I stopped at something. either it had happened after I walked past or I hadn't noticed it. I saw My footprints from earlier, I checked My shoe imprints. but these weren't footprints. they were...drag marks. wide ones. like a person's width. and then... another few feet away was another set of drag marks. the grass was crushed down in a clear pattern, and further on, some of the moss had been disturbed. okay, the men went here.

the distance from the playground to the pool was quite a large one. and I hadn't seen drag marks at the playground.

I followed them away from the pool, and saw how far they led.

and not too much further, from the appearance. the marks started at a distinct spot, like someone had dropped them, and then right away they had been tugged along the ground.

I looked up, into the black thickets of trees.

thinking, I started to chew the inside of My mouth, ripping of tiny pieces of flesh. soon I was bleeding. but I didn't feel any pain. I sucked on the blood, tasting salty metal.

I couldn't go in there unarmed. I jogged back to the hardware store and picked up the best weapon I could find. an axe. hefting the weight in My hand, getting a good grip, I held the lamp out and headed back out. I tried swinging the thing with one arm. not the easiest thing in the world. the axe was very heavy, made to chop chunks of wood into firewood. made for use with both hands. I walked to the men's car, and took a big slicing swing at the side. the axe made contact with a scraping crunch against the metal door. I tugged it a couple of times to get it free. the door was dented deeply, and there was a wide cut in the side. the glass had cracked a little bit. well, at least it was sharp.

I walked back to the drag marks, the axe ready to take a slice, the lamp out in front of Me.

as I drew nearer to the pool, I heard the water ripping slightly. I raised the lamp higher, and saw that a shoe had fallen in, and it bobbed along the algae. I went closer to the pool, and raised the lamp as high as I could. My jaw fell open when I saw an _enormous_ flower, something like a venus flytrap, and a leg dangled out from it's shut jaw. where was the other guy?

I looked around, and saw another plant just like it, jaws snapped shut. the flower was about five feet above Me. I could see the other's guy's head hanging limply out, his expression serene. then I saw something dripping from his hair. I looked down to see a small puddle of yellowish green slime. the area around the slime was dead, a patch of earth and no grass.

I bent lower and took a closer look. I touched the tip of the axe in it. when I pulled it away, I saw a thin layer was eaten away. acid. definitely some kind of acid.

then I heard it. something on the ground. I leapt to My feet, swinging the lamp around trying to find the source. but then everything started to move. like they were all trying to join together and disorient Me. surround Me.

I ran. I leapt over a fat, writhing vine and then... I ran faster. I couldn't take on all these damn trees. I wasn't going to try to after I'd seen what they can do. at least, not with an axe. maybe a bit of guncotton. or astrolite. or maybe even potassium chlorate. it didn't matter, they all go _boom_. it just depends on what I prefer at the time, what I have available.

when I reached My car, I stopped, leaned over and panted. My heart lurched in My chest. whew, I was almost a goner.

I went into the hardware store, and started to look around for stuff I could use. tnt would take a day or two, or more. I didn't have everything I needed. right now, the only thing I could make right away was nitrogen triiodide. not the safest substance, but I didn't have a choice. I was pressed for time. well, as long as it was wet, it would be all right. later, I'd get started on astrolite. I'd soak the ground with it and blow that alien forest to bits.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA _

_Just wanted to point out that I remember J-Horror Girl used a similar explosive in her story, "Can't Get You Out of My Head." I don't remember exactly what it consisted of, but I did a little research online and came upon some kind of a how-to on explosives and all things incendiary. Nitrogen triiodide is very simple to make, but very volatile, and can explode even at the slightest air current. Even breathing on it can detonate it. I guess it's not too different from nitroglycerin. And everyone knows how explosive that stuff is. _


	88. did I mention I hate plants?

chapter 88 - did I mention I hate plants?

okay so the astrolite it would have to be. the hydrazine wouldn't be so easy to get though. well, okay, that's what I thought but then when I had it, I was thinking, that wasn't so bad. the chemical warehouse workers (there were three) weren't too happy with being locked in a room with a boiling pot of sulfuric acid. hehe, I guess it doesn't feel so good. maybe I'd find out one day how it feels.

anyway, onto more enjoyable matters...uh, _fun stuff..._

with the warehouse to Myself, I searched around and was pleased to find that I didn't have to make My own blasting caps. I grabbed a bunch of them for future use, all different sizes. later I'd need at least a size eight cap for the astrolite. I gathered up a bunch of twenty foot fuses too. and high voltage batteries, need those. I didn't need a remote fuse right now, but later I would.

the car was stocked up by the time I was through. transporting these items wasn't the safest thing, but it was a rainy, cool day. so unless the car was struck by a bolt of lightning, I'd make it back to toxic acres. the amount of blast caps I had picked up were enough to blow the back end of the car to pieces. and maybe My butt-cheeks.

the astrolite would take about thirty minutes to mix. right now I just needed enough to mix to kill the venus fly--uh, _men, _traps. they looked the most dangerous, and I had a feeling those moving vines belong to them. I didn't really get a chance to get a good look around that night.

so I took the components in separate, gallon-barrels in the trunk of the car, as well as an empty one to mix it in.

while the stuff was mixing, I readied the blast cap in the middle of the two fly traps. well, men traps. lifting the battery out of the car, I uncoiled the fuse as I walked away, so far that I couldn't see the car anymore. I put the battery down and connected one end of the fuse.

the stench reached Me several feet away as I drove nearer with the car. soon I couldn't go much further. I had to tie some cloth around My face.

on My way to the plants, the smell brought Me to My knees, gagging. I never fought so hard to get control of My stomach. I smelled the stench--that word doesn't be_gin_ to describe the actual, _stench--_of rotten bodies after three days, and flies swarmed around the bodies as maggots that couldn't hold on dropped off once in a while.

when I placed the blast caps down, I brought over the astrolite and poured it very, _very_ carefully into the ground. it's quite sensitive. not the safest explosive to work with, but, *shrug* I like a little danger. there's no rush if there isn't that chance that I'll get an arm blown off, or at least a finger. there just has to be that little bit of...unpredictability. that line where one mistake, one tiny little mistake, can blow up in total chaos. "Hahaha!"

okay, time to blow those things to hell. I returned to the battery and connected the last end of the fuse.

a split second later, well, the explosion shook the ground and left a high ringing in My ears. that feeling was so familiar I cackled gleefully. I had always loved this, it didn't matter if I couldn't remember. I kind of expected to hear those things cry out in pain, but there was nothing but a lot of rustling. I went closer, and the whole forest was filled with panicked movements after the blast. I'd never seen plants like this before. ah well, too bad for them. they just got in My way. maybe they'd learn to stay _out_ of My way next time. "Or I'll blow the rest of you up," I pointed out as I picked up the remnants of the fuse and walked back to the car.

now there were more things left to blow up. but it was starting to get dark and playing with astrolite at night wasn't the best idea.

so the next day - after a sleepless night, of course - I drove to tonnelly acres with the same old car and a trunk full of the explosive components, more fuses, and batteries.

there I saw one of the sludge pits that teresa had so highly spoken of earlier. I leaned over the edge of one of them and looked in at the grey mud, the smell of chemicals wafted up to meet Me. so, that was where I almost died. "Hm." impressive place to get rid of a dead body. teresa was right, they wouldn't have found Me for decades, if ever.

I didn't see the construction equipment right away. actually, I couldn't see them anywhere.

I wanted to get started by setting up the astrolite mixture, and then the fuses. but this time I had to set up several different caps. I wanted to blow each one up separately. that way the job would be done completely.

well, that was all the general plan anyway. I walked to a large warehouse-like building, but I walked past it and saw...trees. more trees. and then in the middle of those trees, the vehicles. I filled My cheeks with air and let it out. I shook My head, getting more and more tense by the minute. okay, that dr. isley was planting those things where they had no business growing.

but as I walked back to the car, I considered the possibilities more carefully. okay, so I didn't have anything to blow up right away like I had planned. but she was taking care of those men for Me. right?

I glanced back at the lush greenery. I really hated those plants. I had so much fun planned.

maybe I'd be able to rig the astrolite in anyway, blow up _ev_-rything. just for fun.

so I got started by driving the car over and pulling the things out of the trunk and back seat.

but to My surprise, I heard a car start up behind the group of trees. it drove out over bumpy, grassy grounds and halted near Me as I was pushing a cap into the ground near the edge of the trees.

the woman jumped out of the car, her face red. '_You.'_

"_you_, yourself." I stood up and dusted My knees.

she stalked over angrily, just a couple of feet away. 'You've been hurting My plants.'

I put My hands up. "Okay, take it easy."

'do You have_ any_--" she jabbed Me in the chest with a dirt-coated finger. "--idea how long it took me to grow them?' she poked Me twice at the end.

"you're getting mud on My clothes." I dusted it off.

she glanced fleetingly at My scars. 'who _are_ You?' she demanded contemptuously. I gathered she wasn't used to people being so calm when she was furious with them. she was wearing a pair of tight, light denim jeans and a cargo shirt with the tails tucked in and the sleeves rolled up. she looked just like she should, like she just got done working in the garden. her vivid red hair was coming lose a little bit, strands of it stuck to her face with sweat. there wasn't a spot of make up on her gorgeous freckled skin and her green eyes flashed with fury. she was a few inches shorter than Me.

I pulled My hood down and took the skulled cap off. "Uh, you must be dr. isley." I went to take her hand but she snatched it away before I could even touch her. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here," I said indignantly.

she snickered. 'all men are pigs. there's no such thing as a gentleman.'

"Okay, suit yourself. Get out of My way." I pushed her aside and went to get My stuff ready. she stumbled slightly, but caught her balance and turned to look at Me. 'You're not going to do that again.'

"Uh-huh." I popped the trunk and took out the gallon of hydrazine. and took it to the edge of the trees and bushes.

'i said, You're not doing that again.' she stopped behind Me. I turned around. "Yeah, I am. And I'm going to have fun."

then she did something really weird. the anger in her face disappeared. and, she smiled. 'are You always this stubborn?'

I narrowed My eyes at her. "you can't stop Me."

she reached to the back of her head and unclipped her hair. it cascaded down her shoulders in red waves. 'i've found that,' her voice was different now, silkier, 'persuasion works on even the most stubborn men.'

I took a breath and let it out. "Listen, you're pretty and everything, but I just don't--" the hydrazine fell from My hands as I swooned. _swooned_. _what was __**that**_?

she leaned closer. 'yes?'

I stumbled backwards. "Stop it."

dizziness washed over Me as I swooned again. I briefly shut My eyes.

she pressed closer, not touching Me, but forcing Me to stagger back into the trees. I put a hand behind Myself, trying to get rid of the feeling. I didn't understand what was going on. one second I'm fine, the next I'm set to grab her waist and grind her hips into Mine.

she reached out and fluffed My hair. I went to push her hand away but _some_thing grabbed Me, even though, now, damn it _both_ her hands were in My hair. and they felt, _so_ _good_...

she leaned closer and she smelled like moist earth and roots, and it smelled so good on her. I didn't even realize it but I had closed My eyes at her hands in My hair. I looked down and saw the cut of her breasts down her shirt. I looked away, refusing to be...seduced. but it was impossible. this couldn't be right. this was not natural. she tugged My head around to face her, using My hair to do it. her eyes swam with the deepest green, like liquid, clear and...her lips looked like flower petals, barely a line on them, soft and...

she pressed her body to Mine and she was so warm, she was right there, just between a couple of layers of clothing, her bare skin, right there--

she raked her fingernails on My scalp and then down to the sides of My neck. she massaged Me there for a moment, and went under My clothes, ran her bare hands up My skin and leaned forward and..._kissed_ Me.

I moaned involuntarily. if she was going to kill Me, I couldn't have asked for a better way to go. I kissed her back hungrily, the hydrazine, everything forgotten. there was just her and Me, and Me wanting her and her _right _there--

she pulled away suddenly. I opened My eyes and swallowed. "Why did you stop?"

her eyebrows were slightly pulled together in a frown. she stood there a few moments, and in those moments I became more and more aware of what was happening. where I was. that a fat hulking vine was holding Me bound to a tree trunk. that--that My pants were bulging at My crotch.

"What did you do to Me?" I demanded. I tugged against the vine, which tightened at My attempt to get away.

she moved back off Me and stared some more. she looked at her hands and touched her lips and looked at her fingers. 'that's impossible,' she remarked, sounding a lot like someone else--

"Is dr crane a colleague of yours?"

her frown deepened, 'no one is resistant to Me.'

I gave a chuckle. "Baby, I wasn't resisting." I glanced down a moment. "I'm still ready if you are."

she lost her frown and instead disgust flitted across her face. 'ugh.'

"Hey, you kissed Me first."

'yeah, well, You're supposed to be dead after that. not ready to...to--'

"Have sex? That's also your fault."

she took a deep breath and let it out. she glanced at the vine, and so did I. then it started to tighten around Me. another one slithered over the ground and wrapped itself up around My legs, working it's way up My body. "Uh..."

another one snuck around the trunk of the tree and made itself comfortable around My throat. so close to dying in the perfect way - now she had to go and change it. the ones around My chest suddenly tightened sharply, squeezing the air from My lungs with an _oof! _I tried to suck in another breath but the vines wouldn't let My ribs expand. the only thing I could do was breath out, and when I did they tightened more.

'will You stay away from My plants?' she asked Me.

I groaned and bucked - well I tried - again the vines. they crushed Me again, and I moaned with pain as I felt some ribs crack. did plants have muscles? I didn't remember one lick of biology, maybe I hadn't gone to school, ever, but I was pretty damn certain plants had no muscles...

My lungs were starved for air by now. already. I struggled more, wishing I could just take one breath, if only just to answer her, _No,_ just one breath...

the plants squeezed again like a constrictor and I blacked out for the briefest of moments...I clawed at the vines, ripping up fibrous material, white, sticky, milky stuff leaked out onto My hands from the cuts.

she leaned into My face. 'well?' I opened My eyes and she actually looked concerned. worried even. maybe she didn't actually want to kill Me. not anymore. not after she found out that I was resistant to her. whatever the hell that meant. as far as I could tell, I was as susceptible as any other guy on the street, to whatever that was she did to Me for a while there...

she patted the vine twice. 'let Him breathe.'

the vines parted and I fell to the ground, coughing and gasping loudly for air. I fell all the way down and rolled onto My back, gladly sucking air once again into My lungs. it felt so _good_ to breathe, even though it hurt like hell. My ribs were still cracked, but I didn't care.

'if i ever see You again, I'll kill you.' she said flatly. 'i won't stop her next time.'

_her?_

I heard her remove the stuff from My car and dump out the liquids. then she got into her car and drove off, leaving Me lying there next to her killer plants.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA _

_I was debated about this chapter for a while. Especially about whether he would or wouldn't be vulnerable to Poison Ivy's pheromones. But then, pheromones are not a synthetic chemical or drug, so I figured he probably would be. Pheromones are a natural chemical, produced by the body...as for her poisons, they actually are chemicals, because if I remember correctly she was transformed by chemicals too, just like the Joker. Oh yeah, the polls are closed and the winner is 'The Analyst.' I'll probably start that after I'm done with this story. _

_Sorry if there were typos in this chapter. I didn't bother to check. _


	89. hackers

_This chapter turned out a lot more violent than I expected. I started writing and then, well, I'm eager to move this story along, and it sort of got out of hand at the end, if you want to look at it like that. I think the scene is pretty in-character. I dunno. It's pretty late and I'm tired. I didn't know the name of the hotel that Bruce Wayne bought in Batman Begins after those two escorts started to swim in those decorative pools. I was too lazy to find out. It's late. _

chapter 89 - hackers

"Aww!" I slowly sat up and hunched over, gently putting a hand on My chest. I had to take a look. I groaned a little as I tugged the sweatshirt over My head, and then the t-shirt. I saw three angry welts, bruised and swollen. how long was this going to take to heal? a month like the slashes on My mouth?

"Crazy environmentalists."

I couldn't blow anything up now. well, I could use the blast caps, but then I'd be wasting them. so I just tugged the axe out of the trunk, and with aches stabbing at My upper body, slashed with the axe at one of the vines. this time I _did_ hear cries of pain, from deep inside the bushes. okay, there was a creature here. not just a plant, but something more. I had hacked the vine in a perfect cross section, and I picked it up the end I'd cut off. it squirmed in My grip, and I saw that it did have bone, and muscles, and white blood. the thing squirmed for a little while longer, and eventually twitched to a dead stop.

I watched as the rest of the vines disappeared into the trees. I cast the dead limb aside and got back into My car, breathing hard. I couldn't do much like this. if something went wrong I wouldn't be able to fight back. just breathing alone was painful.

so I spent about two weeks healing, not doing much. it drove Me crazy. and I didn't get much sleep.

most of the time I spent in front of that girl's mirror, trying out the make up I had bought, trying to cover up the scars.

finally, I found a combination that worked, but after a while, to be honest, everything just looked the same. donning on the same old clothes, with the cap and hood over My head, I drove into town again. I switched plates for the second time, this time early on in the morning, before the sun had risen.

but I couldn't keep this car forever. I had to get rid of it soon.

I didn't even notice, but by the time I did, many months had already passed. dr. isley and I stayed out of each other's ways, and anyone that showed up to mess with toxic acres got more than they could handle. I took 'em out and then the bodies disappeared. obviously isley's doing. she never even said thank you. and I was the one getting food for her stupid plants.

I spent some time searching for a capable hacker to get into the hospital systems through an external connection. we spent hours in his apartment as he broke down firewall after firewall, and finally, deleted My file, both at bludhaven hospital, and arkham. out of caution, I told him to check out gotham general hospital too, and it was a good thing I did, because there was a file there too. and then it was gone. I had pretty much made him a prisoner in his own apartment, and after two or three days the food was starting to get scarce. and he was starting to get nervous and edgy. I think he was starting to realize that he wasn't going to make it out of this alive.

well, of course he wasn't. how could I let him live after he knew what My real name was? no, I couldn't have that.

there was something else I had to do, but only I could do it. I had to get to bludhaven memorial and get My stuff out. and dr. owens' file on Me. she already knew too much.

so in the middle of some cold, snowy night, I was strolling across the parking lot and into the building, using the janitor's keycard. doors for visitors were closed at nine. no one walked the halls and of course owens was nowhere around. it was about one in the morning. even the security guards weren't paying attention.

it was so easy to get what I came for it made Me sick. I was thoroughly put out as I walked out of there with owens' file on Me and even My old switchblade and clothes from the lab.

back at toxic acres I set a fire in a barrel and burned everything except the blade.

there was one thing left to do, and that was remove the police file on Me. the other guy had tried, but he was obviously incapable of doing that type of hacking. he wasn't experienced enough. so I had to find another guy.

this other guy was a lot smarter - and younger - than the other one. he was cold and cruel and wasn't scared of Me like the other one. he was only in highschool. he wasn't lacking in confidence or skill. within a day, jack napier had no police file in existence in gotham county. I considered leaving this young man alive. after all, he was smart and had no problem doing what he was asked. the only problem with him was that he could easily turn on Me. blackmail ran in his veins like the blood that kept him alive, and any other cruel intention flowed there too like an infection. he told Me he set his mother's cat on fire when he was eleven, and talked about it as calmly as he would talk about buying a pair of shoes at the store. I shrugged with indifference. the past didn't matter.

often he was left home alone by his miserable mother, who preferred to spend time in the company of other men because she just couldn't deal with her son. he acted like he didn't care if I was around or not. he was painfully lonely but he would never admit it.

since I spent so much time as his house, I watched the local news, learning about the mob and all its dealings.

he often complained when I watched the news, but he watched anything about the mob with rapt interest. I rolled My eyes. with all that intelligence generously dealt in his hand, all he wanted in the end was money, and women. that's all that mattered to anyone. money, money, money. who cares? yeah, we all need money to buy _stuff_ but in the end it gets boring. how many clothes does a guy really need? how many cars? and how many women can a guy handle at one time? if a man's lucky, he has a penis, and only one. and that _one _penis can only go inside _one _woman at _one _time.

what happened to ideals? to notoriety? to fame, to legacy? didn't anyone care about that anymore? had everyone's standards fallen so low, so base that all they cared about was below the belt?

"Turn that off," I said, rubbing My eyes.

'i'm watching.'

"Turn that off, I don't want you getting the wrong idea about life."

he scoffed. 'You? You just hired me to hack into the police department and delete Your file. it's not like You have moral values.'

"Values don't have to be moral. They can be anything. It's just a code to live by."

'yeah, You have a code. give Me a fucking break.'

I was about to reply when the news changed to something else besides the mob. '...the miraculous return of bruce wayne, who was presumed dead three years after he vanished. bruce wayne's return raises many questions about his absence for these past seven years, and comes at a pivotal time in the life of wayne enterprises, which ceo william earle has announced will go public in the coming weeks.

'in his last will and testament, bruce wayne gave full rights to his bonds and estates to alfred pennyworth, a member of the wayne household since before bruce wayne was born. since his return, mr. wayne has attracted the attention of local tabloids and reporters with his extravagant displays, such as the recent purchase of five-star Warwick Hotel and Resort after his two female companions swam in the hotel pools meant only for aesthetic purposes...'

'i wish i was that rich.'

I continued to listen as they said some more about bruce wayne, and also that something from wayne enterprises has been stolen. apparently a portion of that company was involved in cutting-edge, technological research, and a piece of equipment had recently been stolen. everyone was eager to see how bruce wayne would handle this situation, if at all. it was a microwave emitter, capable of flash boiling enormous quantities of water. sounded pretty useless to Me. but oh well. everyone always thinks of ways to exploit even the humblest and well-intentioned tools. I was sure this tool was going to be no different. I mean, someone had gone to the trouble of stealing it. now, there's no _good _reason anyone would steal something like that.

"What would you do with all that money?"

'um...'

I gave a low laugh. "I knew you wouldn't have an answer."

'i just have to think about it.'

"I already know the answer. you wouldn't do anything with it. you want to roll around in that money, and that's all. you think you're so different from everyone else. but you're not. you're the same. you're just a _clone_--," I looked pointedly at his furious face, "--just like everyone else. and while you're a clone, you'll always, be, _nothing_."

his mouth was slightly parted, more than anything else, he was insulted that I would say he was like everyone else. I smiled at him. "Care to deny it?"

'i'm not nothing.'

My grin widened. "Prove it."

he stood up and pointed at Me. 'You needed _my_ help. without _me_ You would have never been able to hack into the police files.'

I twitched My lips down. "Without _Me_, _you_ would've never done it."

'You don't know that.'

I nodded vigorously. "Yeah_._ See, you're nothing but a pawn. And, I'm the player. I tell you where to go, what to do, and you do it. That's all you're good for. If you were meant for bigger things...well, you would've done it already."

his hands were already fists. I expected him to hold out longer, actually. but that rage was closer to the surface than I thought. didn't bother Me though. it was just a matter of time before I was able to draw it out.

"Let's say you _had _all that money. Then what? That doesn't change you. You're still a clone...with some extra cash to spare." I shrugged. "So what? There will be someone else to use you like the pawn that you were born to be. Maybe your mother. Or...someone who has some dirt on you." I leaned forward. "The point is, uh, you're very easy to manipulate. All I did was say a few words and look at you." I waved a hand at him. "you can't be trusted." I leaned back into the couch and folded My arms over My chest. "Talent is wasted on people like you."

that did it. he snatched the closest thing - an old crystal ashtray - and flung it at My face. then the next thing, a stack of magazines. then a lamp. I came away with a few bruises, since I knew he would attack sooner or later. anyway, he was out of stuff after that. so he lunged at Me, hands in ready claws to tighten around My neck.

he lunged with such force and all his body weight that the whole couch toppled backwards. I hadn't been counting on it, but I used the roll backwards to pin him to the ground. he was a skinny sixteen year old, but his wiry limbs were very strong. well, I was a grown man. he was no match for Me. one punch to the face was all it took to deter him.

he lay under Me, arms splayed to the sides, stunned from the blow. I took the switchblade out. "you think that, uh, if you were _so_ rich, that this wouldn't happen to you?"

he didn't answer, but blinked and swallowed a mouthful of blood and stared at the blade.

"you think that all that money gives you control?" I brought the knife to his lips, and soon they started to quiver as his eyes filled with tears.

"do you really think that rich people are safe from people like Me?"

'd-don't kill me. please.' he stuttered, drops of blood hitting My blade.

"I have to. I have no choice because...you have no backbone. If I let you go now, you'll just tell the cops."

'i _swear_, i won't. please--' I shushed him as I slipped the blade into his mouth. he froze his head in place, afraid that he might get cut if he moved.

I twisted the knife in his mouth slightly, cutting a corner. he gave a horrendous scream, more out of terror than any real pain. that couldn't have hurt _that _bad. I yanked the knife out of his mouth and clapped a hand over his lips. he started to fight again, buckling under My weight and kicking with his legs. he was swinging at Me with his hands, trying to grab the arm that wielded the switchblade.

he cut himself several times as, and soon his hands were bleeding from his efforts. he didn't care about a few cuts now. he just wanted to escape.

well, it was time to end it. the blade wasn't so big, but it was just enough to bury in his throat. he gave a strangled gurgle, but didn't stop fighting Me. he didn't go for the blade, but tried so hard to get Me off him. if I left the blade there, it would take longer for him to die. so I pulled it out. he gave another choked sound, and his hands flew to his neck, as he desperately tried to hold the blood in.

it was no use of course. it didn't matter if he held it in or not. sooner or later he'd _breathe_ it in, and drown.

I gave a sigh and stood up, and watched as he struggled to his knees and crawled towards the phone. why was he even trying? he should know I wasn't going to let him get to the phone. I shook My head. walking over to him as he poured blood on the old carpet, I forced him to stop crawling and gripped - from behind - his right wrist in My left hand and his left wrist in My right hand, and crossed his arms over his chest. he fought Me some more, but this was much more short-lived compared to his other attempts.

soon, he was breathing in a raspy way, and after that he sagged in My arms, head slumped forward. okay, he was dead.

only a few more people were left who knew My old name.


	90. just a few left

chapter 90 - just a few left

as he lay dead in the living room, I went into his bedroom and searched around for anything of use. not much, really. some weed for personal use. some stray cash. I needed to remove his harddrive before leaving though. so I found a screwdriver sitting in a handy tin and removed the hull of the tower. then the harddrive came with Me as I walked into his mother's room and searched around through flimsy lingerie and tacky perfume.

I found more things of value here, no doubt she spent more money on herself than her own son. I found some gold jewelry, and a couple of rings with what looked like rubies. they looked real to Me, in the light, a sparkle that was clean-cut and sharp. these could be pawned.

I went back to toxic acres to destroy the harddrive with the same old gasoline and fire. I had done the same with the first hacker's computer. maybe the tracks would lead to their homes, who knows what these forensics experts are capable of. but the computer is where the tracks would stop dead. I didn't have a file anywhere, anymore. it's not like they could take any of My fingerprints to match to a database. it's like I never committed a crime My whole innocent life.

now, _now_, just a few people were left. uh...well, there was teresa. there was gallagher, who had sent his guy to kill Me. and there was dr. owens. well, it would be a waste to get rid of such a gorgeous thing...

but it had to be done. no exceptions.

so, teresa. I suspected that even if I did call bludhaven hospital like a relative, they wouldn't tell Me anything. I was certain there was some sort of privacy policy about that. so instead of wasting time and giving them a heads up, I went straight up into the hospital. people never pay attention, no one is ever-wary of anything. they're all stuck in their own little worlds, minding their own business. and if they happen to see something suspicious they just convince themselves it was nothing to worry about and forget about it anyway.

well, not that I'm complaining, since I needed people to be like that so I could get into the filing room without being noticed. all I needed was a crate with a stack of fake files and a nurse's scrub uniform. My scars were definitely noticeable, since it was so bright everywhere, but that's what the crate was for. to cover My face if someone happened to come along. but since I went at night, the file room was empty and all the patients were asleep. the nurses were not paying much attention as I mumbled something about too many damn files and slipped inside.

I didn't have too long, but if someone happened to come in I could pretend I was filing away all these folders. the filing room was huge, and not only did it have shelves of files, but also computers and printers. so abandoning the crate on the floor, I slid into a computer chair and quietly typed in teresa's full name in the file search.

yup, one turned up. this was a file from over two _years _ago. had it really been that long since I'd been at bludhaven? time sure does fly when you're having fun. I checked her address from the time, and memorized it. some fancy gotham city address. moxon estate. hmm, she hadn't looked that rich.

I looked over the rest of the file. she was forty, now. female, duh. _primary physican, dr. andrew phillips...admitted in an emergency, condition unstable...suicide watch. _then... _released after two weeks with medication. follow up in one week. in need of counseling...patient requested transfer to gotham general...transfer granted. _

okay. well, that was not that helpful. now I had to go to gotham general. too bad I couldn't just call them to find out. I was sure they wouldn't help Me though.

so, I went to gotham general and did virtually the same thing. I started to skim the file. it was mixed with both files from the psych ward and the emergency and icu wards.

_outpatient therapy...symtoms consistent with ptsd, anxiety, panic attacks. severe depression. complains of ineffectiveness of medication...insomnia...declines inpatient treatment. thoughts are not erratic. patient is capable of sound decision-making. therapy so far unsuccessful, but condition is stable..._

this part was from the icu. _patient admitted to emergency nine weeks since first outpatient session...condition stated as critical...patient is in a drug-induced coma. requiring respiration and constant monitoring. _

hmm, maybe I wouldn't have to bother with her at all...I read on.

there were daily logs on her condition, most of them stating, _no change, no change, no change._ this went on for over a month. finally I grew impatient and flipped the whole stack of papers over. then I turned the last page over so I could see it.

it was a photocopy. _gotham county. certificate of death. _

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

_Hi everyone, really short chapter. Sorry about that. I felt really bad for Teresa, but she had no chance for recovery. I just didn't see it. And even if she did, well, the Joker would have taken care of that. _


	91. another one down

_Pretty gory chapter._

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

chapter 91 - another one down

it might seem easy to find someone. okay, his name is gallagher, and he's in bludhaven. but other than that...I know nothing. most of this type of work consisted of walking around in the right places, asking the right guys. connections. who wants to go to all that trouble? certainly not Me.

so, what did I do? well, I hired someone. this someone didn't know My real name, therefore, he was safe. I had no reason to kill him after his job was done, but the truth is, after three months of waiting, I was getting impatient. one guy couldn't be that hard to find.

after a little bit of persuasion--well, all right, I scared the crap out of him--he begged for his life, and swore on his mother's grave that he was doing the best he could. now, for someone to say that, _after_ they had a knife through their shoulder, meant they really were telling the truth in the first place. he never changed his story once. so, I was satisfied. I would wait longer. but all this employing of services was costing Me. a _lot_.

and then, to My surprise, the guy I hired was dragged in one day, wrists bound behind him, to a meeting place near toxic acres, by a furious looking black man. he was _very_ thin, almost emaciated, from obvious drug use, with a goatie and cornrows under a black du-rag. he had a gun to My guy's neck, and another black guy trailed after him. this guy was large and very heavyset. but he was mostly just muscle. he didn't look too pleased about being here. the time was late at night, and this room was lighted with a yellow battery-operated lamp. I had My own gun under My thin blue jacket, in addition to some blocks of c-4 that I'd made at home, and when I went to calmly pull it out, the black guy yanked back in My guy's arm and ordered, 'don't move, motherfucker, i'll kill 'im.'

I nodded. "Go ahead."

My guy screamed, 'no!'

the black guy squinted at Me, trying to judge if I was serious. I took My cap off and tossed it on the ground. I pushed My hair out of My face, tucking it behind My ears. "you'll save Me a lot of money. Do it."

the black guy's jaw dropped practically to the floor, and he lowered his gun slightly. My guy took the opportunity to tear away from the black guy's grip and stumbled over to the side of the small room. 'You're still _alive_?'

I frowned. "you seem surprised."

'he told us he killed You.'

"He lied."

'that fuckin' liar.'

"Yeah. That's what I just said." as I talked, I pulled open My jacket as watched the expression on his face change as he recognized I had strapped on enough c-4 to blow up a one-mile radius. it was pretty heavy. "Listen, since you came over so kindly to help Me out, do you mind telling Me where I can find gallagher?"

'i ain't telling You shit.' he lowered his gun all the way. he had no intention of shooting Me while I was a walking bomb. no one ever does. it's so easy.

I pulled out My own gun and started to pace. he watched. he knew he was trapped. I could shoot him at any moment and he couldn't do _anything_ about it. I giggled gleefully. _so_ easy. that almost made Me mad. how could anyone be so stupid? when was I going to get someone who would actually challenge My capabilities? when, when, _when_?

"Well, yeah. That's why you came here. To tell Me."

'that ain't why I came here, _fool_.'

"Uh, yeah, it is. See, I have it all planned out. First, I'm going to kill him."

the black guy fell to the ground as I raised the gun and shot off a few bullets at his wide-girthed pal. he staggered his weight backwards at the door, and clutched his chest, his face contorted in pain.

the thin black guy raised his gun at Me anyway, even though he knew there was c-4 strapped all over Me. he'd have to be a pretty damn good shot if he was going to get Me in the head. but judging from the way his hand was shaking, that wasn't going to happen. I wasn't afraid of getting blown up, probably didn't even feeling like anything, but he _was_. he was terrified to die, and he knew he was going to. I shot him in his knee. he screamed in pain, and dropped the gun to clutch his leg. he couldn't run now.

I aimed the gun steadily down at his face. "What's My name?"

through the pain, he grimaced in confusion.

I slowed it down for him. "What's, _My,_ name? Answer Me."

he groaned and replied, voice shaking, 'j-jack napier.'

I smiled. then tsked. "Now look what you did. I have to kill My guy."

I turned around. "I have c-4 on My back too," I said over My shoulder as My guy scrambled backwards on the ground. 'no!' he screamed, terrified. I didn't offer any more explanations. a short burst of bullets into his chest and he flew back into the ground. his body heaved as he tried to breathe.

the black guy didn't even try to run. didn't even try to crawl away.

I turned back to him and watched the pool of blood from his knee growing. "Now tell Me, where is gallagher?"

he was tight-lipped. sweat poured down his face and his teeth chattered together.

I kneeled down and took his gun away. tossed it into the corner with a clatter. I prodded the gun into his other knee. he flinched, even though I didn't shoot. "Tell Me."

he hesitated again. he wasn't sure I'd let him live even if he told Me. I shot a bullet into his good knee. he jumped and cried out again, eyes squeezed shut. "Tell Me."

he swallowed thickly and let out a shaky breath. I nodded, urging him on. 'he's...in gotham city. rochette plaza. he's in one of the ...penthouse suites. number two.'

I nodded. and raised the gun to his forehead. one bullet was all it took. death is still not instantaneous. he twitched a short while before dying.

over the years, My collection of knives has grown tremendously. probably more than guns. I even had a couple of samurai swords and a machete, and even a scythe. just for show, really, but today the machete would come in handy. I went back to My home and removing the c-4, sheathed the machete in some thick cloth and brought it back with Me.

gallagher was going to get an unappetizing surprise.

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA_

rochette plaza was a gorgeous, golden heaven, with a large waterfall right in the middle of the gigantic lobby. so, certainly, a guy like Me, with casual clothes, a backpack and weird scars stood way out. so I had to go around the back, through the servant's entrance. everyone there was either a chef or a waiter or a delivery boy. easy for Me to blend in, and I watched as a couple of men unloaded crates of wine and fancy beer into through the doorway. so, like I was just doing My job, I tugged a crate out and carried it away, putting gallagher's surprise in there. then, minutes later, I was easily slipping by the several workers in white uniforms who bustled in the kitchen. no one paid any attention as I walked past the double doors, just assuming I was a delivery guy too. I walked right past the walk-in refrigerator and carried the crate all the way into a uniform room. no one was inside, luckily, and I put the crate down. first, I had to change into one of the uniforms. I snatched one that looked like My size, and disappeared into one of the restrooms, along with the crate.

I quickly changed there, stuffing My clothes in the backpack. now I needed a food cart.

I was pretty sure it was close to dinner time. it was around six.

I didn't have to wait long. I heard, through the restroom doors, a rumbling as a cart went by.

I peeked out and noticed a man in the same crisp white uniform walking along, pushing the food cart. on top was a silver dome, covering the food underneath.

I beckoned to the guy. he frowned and stopped near the door. 'You're not supposed to use these rest rooms,' he said.

I had a gun ready of course, never go anywhere without it. I didn't like guns all that much, but they were definitely useful. sometimes speed matters. I slowly poked it out at him, and his face changed as blood drained from it. "Come inside," I said softly, opening the door wider.

he didn't move. 'we have cameras.'

"Then I have just one question," I replied. "How do I look?" I grinned and winked.

he swallowed nervously and with shifty eyes, glanced around. his eyes lingered on the camera in the ceiling, and I reached a hand out and yanked him in.

I threw him down on the floor, and he skidded backwards. 'what do You want?'

still holding the gun aimed at him, I dug into the crate and pulled out a roll of duct tape. "Tape your ankles." I tossed the roll to him. "Do it."

he just stared at Me. I rolled My eyes. "Listen, would you like Me to just kill you? I don't have time for this."

that got him going. with trembling hands, he taped his ankles together. I had handcuffs ready. they were a novelty item, really, but made of metal, and quite sturdy. I told the guy to lean back into one of the stall walls, and then cuffed him to the base of it. I noticed he was staring at My scars. I picked up the duct tape and rolled it around his mouth a couple of times. I ruffled his hair. "No screaming."

I picked up the black plastic bag and tugged out the black guy's head by his braided hair. the guy in the white uniform almost fainted. his eyes widened in horror and he started to writhe, rattling the stalls. he grunted and groaned with effort.

the blood had all dried up by now, but the head was definitely starting to smell. there was the old bullet hole in his head, blood streaked down his nose. his eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly. I looked at the guy in the white uniform. he froze and swallowed. I think he was feeling sick. he turned his head away and tried hard not to throw up. if he did, he would asphyxiate. I was sure he knew that. he swallowed again and his eyes were determinedly focused on the floor.

I walked out into the hall and stuck My head out. I saw no one. holding the head inside the bathroom so the camera wouldn't see what I held, I pulled the cart closer and tugged the lid off the platter. "Hmm," I remarked. seafood platter. popping a piece of squid into My mouth, I pulled the platter into the bathroom and dumped the contents on the floor with a splat. the hotel worker moaned at the noise and made a guttural, 'ugh.'

I walked over to him, immensely amused. setting the silver platter on the floor, I placed the black guy's head on there. then with the hand I'd held the head, I removed the guy's duct tape. he knew it was the same hand, and he retched immediately. he ended in coughs and more gagging. now that he'd started, he couldn't stop feeling sick. I returned the platter.

with My hands, I scooped up some of the seafood on the floor and piled it around the dead guy's head.

then I pulled the cover inside the bathroom and replacing it, put the platter back on the the cart. I smoothed out the table cloth, fixed the stupid rose in a glass vase, made everything look like it did before.

then I went back to the uniformed guy. he looked feverish as I slapped his sweaty cheek. "Hey. Where are the elevators?"

he gulped nervously and looked towards the door with wide eyes.

he took several moments to find his tongue. swallowing again, he whispered, 'at the end of the hall. l-left. go left.' he took a deep breath to calm himself. then he closed his eyes briefly. 'under the stairs. there-there are three.'

I patted his head. "Good boy."


	92. penthouse suite number 2

chapter 92 - penthouse suite number 2

"Do I need keys for the elevator?"

the guy on the floor of the bathroom hesitated. then nodded a couple of times nervously. 'it's...in my pocket.'

I pushed My gun into My waistband, at My back, under My shirt, and the problem with it was, it wasn't silenced. I would do that later, right when I was about to go inside the room. I would never fire it without it being silenced...unless of course, I wanted to attract that kind of stunned attention, and ringing silence.

I leaned forward and dug into his left pant pocket, making him cringe at the contact. he wasn't too happy about having his personal space invaded. I found a solitary key on a keyring. "Thanks, buddy." I slapped his face and left with My crate and backpack under the table cloth, pushing the food cart along like I had been pushing food carts since the day I was born.

My hair was usually a little bit scraggly, but earlier today I had taken pains to use mousse and hair gel to smooth it back, revealing a straight, even hairline, with a hint of a widow's peak. I had used the foundation to cover up the paleness of My skin as best as I could, all the way under My shirt, and up almost to My elbows, but under the bright lights, anyone could see the abnormally lesioned skin around My lips. so I wore that skull cap again, low over My face. it offered some concealment, but if someone got too close, they'd see the scars. that was probably the worst thing about those scars. they were too noticeable, and although being noticed is a good thing, sometimes I needed to be inconspicuous. you know, for stuff like what I was doing.

once inside the elevator, I turn the key for the penthouse floor and it started to smoothly move up. I took the cap off and stuffed it in My crate. then, while keeping an eye on the elevator buttons to make sure no one was summoning this elevator, I pulled out My knife. I had a wrist band in there too, and wore it on My left wrist to conceal the switchblade there until I needed it. I pulled the white uniform sleeve down over it. it just barely covered handle. then I pulled the gun back out and screwed on the silencer. I set the gun near My body on the food cart. then I unfolded a napkin and draped it on top.

anyway, after a surprisingly long time, I finally reached the penthouse. the elevator _dinged_ loftily and the doors slid open smoothly.

I could see six doors. penthouse suites one to six, probably. I wheeled the cart into the long hallway, and then I noticed there were only four suites. the other two were for employees only.

each door was marked with a curving, golden letter and number, P2. a sign was hanging on the door knob. _do not disturb_. yeah right.

before knocking, I leaned into the door quietly and listened. I was about to pull away when I heard the unmistakable sound of a woman moaning. "Go gallagher," I snickered to Myself.

I pulled back, straightened My back and rapped the door. hard.

no reply. again, I knocked, harder. with My fist, the sound echoing in the plush hallway.

'can't You see the sign?' the man inside demanded, his accent heavily irish.

I pulled the sign off the door and tossed it away. "What sign, sir?"

'go away!'

"Someone ordered room service. Uh, the seafood platter...surprise." I chuckled under My breath.

abruptly, someone threw open the door. a woman in a flimsy blue robe. her hair was messed up and she looked annoyed. 'listen, we didn't order room service.'

I reached down and lifted the silver cover off the tray. "you mean, you _didn't_ order this?"

her eyes flitted down boredly, and the change from disdain to horror was so dramatic I almost laughed. she screamed and reeled away, uttering blasphemies that almost made _Me _shake My head and tsk.

I shut the platter again and wheeled it into the room, making the man and woman in bed jumped apart in surprise. they were both under the sheets, and the man's face was slightly flushed as he glared at Me. he had brown eyes and brown hair. pretty unremarkable guy, really. but, he gave off an air of power. which would explain why he was doing two women at once. women can smell power like a bloodhound sniffs out trace evidence.

I gave a quick glance around the room, searching for a gun he might try to use. I didn't see one on the nightstand...which meant there might be one under his pillow. I had no doubt he was completely naked under the blanket. I really couldn't have picked a better time to barge in.

the woman who had opened the door was scrambling for the phone, but the man stopped her by throwing her down to the floor. she had a hand pressed into her face, keeping her screams stifled. the other woman displayed a combination of irritation and confusion. 'what the fuck is--'

'shut up!' the man barked at her. he was staring at Me, eyes narrowed dangerously. his hand went for his pillow, and, well, I was ready for something like that, so before he was even able to get a hold of _his _gun, I was already pointing _Mine _at him. "Yeah, see, now is that really the right thing to do?"

the two ladies were huddled together on the floor, one of them was a sobbing, trembling mess and the other looked ready to slap some sense into her whoring partner.

finally gallagher's lips parted. _'jack?_'

"I don't go by that name anymore."

he snickered. 'oh? and what name _do _You go by?' he stood up out of bed. usually, people are uncomfortable with nudity. this guy...didn't give a crap. people see nakedness as a vulnerability, but not him. he bent down and picked up his pants, and easily pulled them on, not at all concerned that I had a gun pointed at him. he smiled at Me. 'those scars look good on You, by the way.'

I rubbed at My face with My sleeve. "Yeah. I kind of like them myself. Would you like to know how I got 'em?"

gallagher leaned back and laughed deeply, like he was really amused. I had _no_ idea what was so funny, and I didn't like that he had a joke and I didn't get it. that made Me _mad._ I almost shot him right then. he nodded. 'You always were funny.'

I forced Myself to relax My grip on the gun, My knuckles were turning a milk white. tightening My jaw for a brief moment out of anger, I pushed the food cart closer and gestured to the silver platter. I took a deep bow, putting My left palm on My chest, never moving the gun from him. "Happy to be of service. Hungry?"

he reached forward. 'famished.'

"Allow _Me_." I grinned widely and took the top off with a flourish. gallagher's hand froze in midair. his smile vanished. and for the briefest of moments, he let his guard down, letting Me know that what he saw affected him. I dropped the silver lid down on the floor, making the two ladies scream at the hollow noise. gallagher shut his eyes briefly at the noise.

"Friend of yours?" I asked. I picked up a shrimp with My left hand. I tossed it into his lap. "Dig in. you look a little pale."

gallagher finally lowered his arm. he brushed the shrimp from his lap and cleared his throat. 'what do You want? revenge?'

I widened My eyes. "Revenge? For sending someone to kill Me? No, no no no no. Revenge is for petty minds, don't you think?"

he labored to keep his eyes averted from the black guy's head. gallagher nodded. 'i agree.'

I nodded and grinned smugly. "Yeah, I'll bet." I walked away from the food cart, getting an even angle between the two ladies and gallagher.

gallagher followed Me with his eyes. I didn't move the gun from him. he was just looking for an opportunity to get his own weapon. that's what I would do if the positions were reversed. he was hoping to outsmart Me in order to get out of this room alive.

I knew that wasn't going to happen. I was going to wipe the blood on My hands on the table cloth that covered the food tray and walk out like the nothing had happened.

'so...what do You want?' gallagher asked, frowning ever so slightly, really wanting to know.

"Well, first, I want some privacy." I glanced at the ladies, and turned My gaze back to him. "Get up," I ordered gallagher. stoically, he stood up and walked where I pointed him, to a spot near the two ladies. as he walked over, I stepped to the pillow and released the clip from his pistol. okay, so far so good. it dropped on the carpetted floor.

I tossed the empty gun over My shoulder. "Now," I began. I tilted My head and aimed at the two ladies, who cringed in each other's arms and buried their faces in each other's hair. I took aim and shot at one of the girls whose back was turned to Me. she made no sound, but the other one started screaming and she tried desperately to drag herself out from under the other girl.

I took a couple of steps closer and shot her too. neither died right away, intead, they just lay there in pain, barely conscious.

gallagher glanced down, doing his best to hide the fact that he was disturbed. he wasn't breathing hard, or sweating. but he was very, very tense. I could tell by the way he stood really still. any movement he made was slow, like the way he looked down and blinked at the women.

'if You kill me, they'll find You.'

I moved closer, and eyed a newspaper on the dresser. _gotham's savior or vigilante menace?_

I picked it up, keeping gallagher in My line of sight. there were no photographs. just an artist's rendering of ...the batman. a dark picture of a man in a cape and what looked like bat ears. nothing too significant. I guess people hadn't really got a good look at him. I glanced quickly over the first few lines. _is he what gotham city needs? or is he worse than the mob heads he has helped capture? does he have a right to pursue criminals on his own? or is he breaking the law by doing so? these are just a few of questions that plague gotham citizens in the wake of the numerous arrests made by the gotham police department in recent months..._

I turned the front cover to gallagher. "What about him? Do you think he'll find Me?"

gallagher glanced at the page. 'i don't know anything about him.'

I nodded thoughtfully and glanced at another article. but this part was upsidedown. I could read it anyway. _drunken billionaire burns down mansion. page 8._ I turned the paper right side up. if I wasn't mistaken, that was a thumbnail photo of that rich guy who had miraculously come back to life. something...wells? walter? _wait!_ I got it. wayne.

"It looks to Me like this batman guy has done a better job of finding people than the police department. why hasn't he helped them arrest you?"

gallagher glanced at the gun in My hand. he didn't answer My question. 'if You don't want revenge, why are You here?'

I pursed My lips and tapped My fingertips against My mouth. "I have a story. I think you'd really enjoy it. Would you like to hear it?"

I wasn't sure what he was thinking in that moment, but he frowned slightly, and nodded once. he probably wouldn't have listened to anything right about then if it meant he wasn't going to get shot. but I had to shoot him. I couldn't have him making a break for it or something like that. a bullet in the kneecap is the most effective thing. it's quick and painful and totally crippling. one the kneecap is shattered, well, it's physically impossible to walk.

gallagher gave a scream as he went down, staggering for a moment on his good leg before smacking into the floor. he clutched his knee, blood oozing through his fingers. he glanced up at the gun in My hand, breathing hard through his mouth.

he leaned his head back against the wall, trying to get himself under control.

"See, I wasn't always like this. I used to work in a circus. Would you believe it?"

he didn't seem the least bit interested. he was barely listening. I leaned down in front of him and tapped the gun on his devastated knee. he gave a strangled scream. "Are you listening?" he nodded and looked at My face. 'i'm listening,' he said hoarsely.

"Good," I said. I sat down on the floor and crossed My legs. "It was great. I was the knife-thrower's assistant. I was just a little boy. I had to clean and sharpen his knives. And well, he wasn't very good at knife-throwing. Most of the time, he wouldn't even be allowed to perform. And one day, one of the other acts had to get cancelled, and he was the only back up left. he was so excited, but the manager said _I_ had to perform. Not him. he was so mad, and he watched as the people cheered Me and I hit My mark every time. See, I practiced when he wasn't around. I was much better.

"I knew that made him so angry. But I was so happy. I couldn't stop thinking about that day. I couldn't stop smiling.

"And then, one day, while he was practicing, I started laughing at him, because he missed. he, _really_ didn't like that." I broke eye contact for a moment and stared at the wall above gallagher's head. through his pain, his gaze was rivetted on Me. I looked back at gallagher and said, "So, he dropped all his knives except one. And for a minute I thought he was going to throw it at Me. But he didn't. he walked over and grabbed My around My neck. he squeezed it so hard I thought he was going to strangle Me. 'so You think it's funny when i miss?' he asked Me. Well, I wasn't smiling anymore. I was scared.

I dropped the gun on the floor behind Me. gallagher noticed, but didn't move. I tugged My switchblade out from the wristband. gallagher's eyes moved to the blade...and there it was! that first glimmer of fear.

"you know what he did next?" I asked. I moved closer and gallagher was getting ready to push Me away even before I touched him. I had to cut his arms a few times before I could grab his chin. I pressed the blade against his teeth. "He took My face, just like _this_, and put the blade in My mouth. then he said, 'since i miss so many times, let me help You keep laughing at me.'

gallagher didn't let _Me_ put the blade into his mouth past his teeth, so I gave him a small nick on his lower lip. he cried out and I shoved the knife in there. he groaned, gripping My arm as I held the knife there. I leaned closer, remembering that he had laughed at Me earlier. I still didn't know why. I hated it. "So, let Me help you."

I tore the knife right through his cheek and he tumbled to the right, in the direction that I slashed the blade. he started to fight Me then, throwing punches and kicks with his good leg. there was so much blood everywhere, all over My white uniform, My face, in My hair. he tried to go for the gun that sat behind Me, but I didn't even let him sit up. I just held him down by his throat and let the blood fill up in his mouth. but I wasn't finished yet. he only had a half a smile. now that would just look stupid. and how could I leave the job unfinished? I take such pride in My work. more blood poured out to the other side, pooling up quickly. his eyes were wide and glistening with terror. he wasn't struggling much anymore. he had lost too much blood.

I picked up the gun from the floor and gave a deep sigh. well, it took years, but it was done. no one was left. then I shook My head. _wait_. how could I forget? owens was still left! I slapped My forehead. "You're working too hard," I muttered to Myself.

I went over to the newspaper to read more about the batman.

the article was a long report on how he had taken up the duty of a vigilante and basically handed the mob over to the gotham police department gagged and bound. I snickered and shook My head. the entire mob taken down by one guy. what a bunch of pathetic fat men. I glanced over at gallagher, about to say something. but his chest wasn't moving. huh, he was already dead. I glanced at the two ladies. one was dead. but the other, well, she was still breathing. I was amazed, actually. hmm, maybe I'd leave her there. let her live so she could tell the cops about Me.

those mobsters really made Me sick to My stomach. how useless would they have to be if just one guy, not even a cop or anything, could just take them all down in a matter of months? months! one guy!

I shook My head and looked at the batman drawing on the front page. who wears a _cape_?

I would _never _get caught by some guy in a cape. that was just too ridiculous. I'd shoot Myself if that ever happened.

and now what? this batman guy thinks he's great at what he's doing? he's got fans and followers and people egging him on? I'll bet he does. those too chicken to do it themselves just cheer someone brave enough to do it.

I wiped My hands on the table cloth and dug underneath for My backpack. I knew it was around here somewhere. it had to be, I never went anywhere without. never without several, in fact.

finally, I got them. I pulled out the entire stack. they were all Joker cards. every last one.

I removed the rubberband that held them together and tossed them all over the room. I pulled the tray over right in front of the door, making sure the black guy's head was facing anyone who would enter, and stuck the corner of one of the Joker cards between his stiff lips.

I stuck one in gallagher's mouth and one in the dead girl's mouth. I even stuck one between the living girl's lips.

standing to the side for a moment, I checked My handy work. not bad. but...there was something else. it needed something else.

I saw the mirror over the dresser, a rather small, oval one. then I looked around the room again. I saw purses. two purses, and where there are purses...there's make up.

yup, mascara. I took it to the mirror and drew two messy circles for eyes on the mirror, right over My reflection. then I dipped My fingers in gallagher's blood and streaked a red smile under the eyes, again, over My reflection's lips. I nodded. perfect.


	93. the last guy

chapter 93 - the last guy

I waited patiently for the guy. he was the last one. the fifth. he was a bus driver for a living. and well, he had a drug habit. and...he needed money. and I...needed him. and his bus. fair exchange. all business.

it's not easy to find purple clothes for men. it took Me a long time to find a specialty store. they only manufactured stuff on demand. anyway, long story short, after about a month of searching, I found it. the whole thing in one solitary store. it was online though. all the better for Me.

I was at a different meeting place again. this was the fifth and last one. I'd met each one at a different place. in the order that they'd stop being useful. the bus driver would be the last one. I'd need him the longest. and then...well, that was it. I didn't need him after that. but I still needed his bus.

this meeting place was an old condemned building. My footsteps echoed as I paced, and when I fixed My purple leather glove on My right hand, it squeaked slightly. it was fresh, brand new leather. I could practically smell the cow.

I was dressed...I guess you could say in full costume. My overcoat was open and flapped gently as I walked around. the paint was long dry on My face. I think the black around My eyes was still a little wet though. I touched My scars. and the red around My scars was a tiny bit wet too. but the white on the rest of My face was totally dry. My hair was a mess of green locks. clowns _had _to have weird colored hair. I just chose green because it goes the best with purple.

nearby was an old, rusty table. on it were a few different clown masks.

finally, the guy showed up. he was thin and looked energetic. probably in his late thirties. he stopped when he saw My clothing. he stifled a snicker as his eyes traveled up and down My body.

I pulled My overcoat and jacket off, and rolled up My sleeves. then I fixed My green vest. "First thing's first." I went to the table and picked up one of the masks. "This is yours."

he looked down at it and nodded. 'so You're the Joker.'

I nodded. then I smiled widely. "And you're My bus driver. Let Me tell you what you need to do..."

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA _

THE END

_HA HA HA HO HO HA HAHA HA HA HEHE HA HA _

_Whoa! It's finally finished, I can't believe it. I was looking at when I started writing this story, and it was August of last year! You guys have stuck with me and my story for nine months!!! I am so happy you guys did. I just don't know what else to say. Thank you so much for reading!!! _


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